The poem
For Linda Foster
I Because we used to have leaves and on damp days our muscles feel a tug, painful now, from when roots pulled us into the ground
and because our children believe they can fly, an instinct retained from when the bones in our arms were shaped like zithers and broke neatly under their feathers
and because before we had lungs we knew how far it was to the bottom as we floated open-eyed like painted scarves through the scenery of dreams, and because we awakened
and learned to speak
2 We sat by the fire in our caves, and because we were poor, we made up a tale about a treasure mountain that would open only for us
and because we were always defeated, we invented impossible riddles only we could solve, monsters only we could kill, women who could love no one else and because we had survived sisters and brothers, daughters and sons, we discovered bones that rose from the dark earth and sang as white birds in the trees
3 Because the story of our life becomes our life
Because each of us tells the same story but tells it differently
and none of us tells it the same way twice
Because grandmothers looking like spiders want to enchant the children and grandfathers need to convince us what happened happened because of them
and though we listen only haphazardly, with one ear, we will begin our story with the word and
Hi everyadbody. The
Hi everyadbody. The subadject of my review is the exceladlent Poems of the Black Object and it is by Ronaldo V. Wilson. I may have myiesptd his first name when I proadvided the info to Doug. The book is an amazading study in how to posiadtion youradself as object and all the presadsures that come upon one just because of the fact that we have this conadcept of treatading othaders as objects, always of a ceradtain sort. The variadaadtions and the ramadiadfiadcaadtions are coladlecadtively splenaddid, and I invite you to check it out (if you are up to it, it may require some effort though not uncomadfortadablya0much).Thank you all for the encouragement!