True Flowers

Seek dogwoods

in bloom.  Four bracts.

Each a cardinal direction.  Poets.

Full in show.


Watching Snow  Fall

‚ÄčI accept the quiet

in growing old.

Each snowflake a memory:

first memories, past

memories, memories

not wanted.  Each like spring.

Fresh.  Rising.

Baba's Hands

I saw them once

on a Cree from Saskatchewan

his bones 


Poetry Poems Poet

Saulteaux Sociogram

Their lips. Your
ears. Between my
two aunties
the language round
dances a discombobulated
tongue in cheek. Jingle
guttural consonants. Swirl
pursed vowels. Ease drop
centuries of psychic disequilibrium.
My lips. Their ears. Spin
Saulteaux silent. 
Your cacophony wails. My ears
don't exist. Your lips 
linguistically profile. This poem
began in Saulteaux. My aunties 
lean forward. Look at each other
and laugh.