Wednesday, September 29, 2010

The old woman sits with hands crossed
she remembers back to a time when those same hands
watched while others held the rough edge of a blanket
elders showing her the art of smoke signals
no longer used
now reduced to the stuff of old stories
fire, water, smoke,
blanket = communication
between far away people
a sort of primitive prairie binary code
if you will
one puff yes
two puffs no
now all of it taken care of by satellites
we gaze at them each night
their existence burns in the heavens

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