June 2014 Words + Art Reading + Poem

Shadows + memories are fickle things,
playing tricks in the light,
darting in + out,
a flash of silver in the murk of the pond
we construct in our minds.
Of all the people + places in the world,
how did you end up here?
What makes your face
stand out in the multitudes?
Is it the light?
The trees?
That one circular photo among all the cubes?
The eyes?
You, young girl,
because your photo
lies on the ground in the little back room?
What makes you significant?
Are you significant?
Do you belong?
Did you know where you were headed?
Did Cajun speak to you –
or remind you of a language
superimposed on a country that
you have never known as your own?
Photos –
forming a thicket garden,
dark leaves on a light floor background,
leaves in shapes from back home,
leaves in a copse
only growing from the shadowy
memories of your elders.
Where are you now?
Do you feel remembered?
Do you matter
in this mass of cubes?
How can you matter
in this overwhelming mass?
How can you matter
in the mass of humanity?
How can you matter
in the mass of stars?
In the end,
you do
as you catch the eye
of one person,
as something in your vibration
sings in tune with someone
circling your cube,
as one kindred being
a million miles away
sees you as a leaf,
one of a great tree
whose sap we form
as the stars
spin in space.
You go on…