“Here I am in the reservation of my mind.”
                                      Adrian C. Louis
Screams drown the sound of fist on face.
It takes a cross country drive for the bruises to fade;
a smack in Albany, cigarette burns in Toledo,
a broken arm in Tulsa.
There was snow in Flagstaff,
temperature 106 in Phoenix.
In a place called Needles an old man with
brown skin, more wood than leather,
stared at me as I fingered the sandstone
figures of wolf, raven, buffalo. There were
questions about pictures on hides and bark,
answers stopped short by a jerk of the arm,
“Don’t talk to these people” hissed in an ear.
“Can I go to the bathroom?”
“Hurry up and go.”
Walking past the old man, “There is a spirit
following you. Do not let them chase it away.”
…the first hint I was switched at birth.
…the first hint there was something more….

A few hard knocks and a little bit of magic have made me the writer I am today.

It’s evolution night at the bar…where do you come from?