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Silhouettes don't speak

The way the light hits the ground 
leads to the sudden appearance 
of shadows upon your frame, 
and your wisps of white hair 
are made whiter by the sunlight. 

I stare at your silhouette, 
realizing that the more years go by, 
the more of a shadow 
you are becoming to me. 

We are distanced by generations, 
browbeaten by past mistakes 
and family secrets. 
You've learned to keep your words safe 
in the womb of your mouth, 
occasionally making use 
of the rolling "r"s 
of your native tongue. 

But, 
we are also connected by 
the language of poetry and ink stains 
that courses deep through our veins, 
by the Navajo stories I still see 
etched in the corner of your eyes, 
by the withered hands that have 
forgotten how to use a pen. 

And yet, it is not enough 
to have you sitting so silently. 
And yes, I crave more. 

So I walk towards you now, and 
reach for your hand. 
Silhouettes don't speak, 
and I don't intend them to, 
but they are always there 
to listen.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2015




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Date: 11/6/2015 2:51:00 PM
I really did enjoy the read, Felicia. There is an overwhelming sense of a "StarWalker" presence attached to the poem...Nicely penned! My best regards! :) john
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