Journey West


I said
Goodbye
To Beale Street one year,
Eyes hurting
From the painful contrast
Of stark white on black –
Dividing-lines with
No intervening warm colors.

West of the Mississippi
The Trail of Tears
Meanders,
Silent imitation
Of the great river,
A different culture’s Babylon
Although dry now,
Bones’ dust
Underneath retreating feet.

Trading riverbanks
For new beaches
I arrive in a land
Of names in
An ancient language.
Some nights, Vallejo’s ghost
Still silently rides
His ancient ranchos,
Sagebrush plains
Now buried patiently
Beneath the unending streets.

(2002)


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Journey West