by Carrie Awbrey
Pages turn like waves
at a river’s edge.
In the garden I rake
my fingers through the story
I was wrong not knowing,
scooping up handfuls of stolen
sovereignty,
and vow by purple mountain majesties
to know down deep the atrocities,
to gather more truth
like a panner gathering gold,
to keep lamenting
my pride and mythology.
Kneeling in the soil, I look up
into spacious skies and say
to shining faces hidden in clouds
backlit by the sun
I’m sorry,
while amber waves of
grief break over me.
Thanks for sharing Carrie. A gorgeous poem that expresses so well feelings I believe many of us can relate to.
Alfred, thank you for your kind comment.
You powerful imagery described these conflicting feelings so well. Beautiful poem, I’m so proud of you!
Autumn, thank you so much!