Curtains of Light

In 1971, my sister, Carmel and I published a book of poems (by me) and illustrations by her. We were young and vibrant and full of revolutionary energy. I was 25 and my sister a recent transfer from George Washington U was a student at CCAC. We lived on the very street that I now reside upon, with two dogs, (of course) and spent our first Thanksgiving together cooking in an airy kitchen with a screen door and a small stove. I am often reminded of that time as I walk the neighborhood, past the flat we shared, and expect as most of us often do (when caught in one of those timeless vortexes), to hear strains of Joanie Mitchell or the Incredible String Band floating through the air, and see one or two residents smoking on the front porch. Ah, but, tempus fugit. Here are two very youthful pieces from 'Curtains of Light.'

I borrow your name,
Erlinda Cosay,
the ad in the magazine says:
you are five years old,
fatherless,
an Apache Indian,
and you can be bought for $15.00
in silver pieces.
I look at your face,
Erlinda Cosay,
and see nothing.
It is empty.
It is desolate,
life stolen from you.
Do you want to borrow some
American land?
************
Sometimes I wonder
in what city,
in what room,
my shadow lingers.
Does it sit upon
some alcove
gathering aging thoughts
or is it cast
along some pavement
lost in curtains of light.