Pima Road Notebook
       

No one ever told me I belong to the earth.

I changed tribes year-to-year:
Cherokee, Cocopah, Pueblo, Mojave.

Clouds like spirits didn't prove religion.

The distant voice of drums was only thunder.

Wagons circled into tract houses.

Cinnamon toast, cold milk, Sunday shirt.

The reservation kept both sides out.

One day we packed up what we owned,
and drove until it snowed.

Copyright © 2010 Keith Ekiss All rights reserved
from Pima Road Notebook
Western Michigan University Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission