T. C. Canon: Indian Woman With Umbrella, View # 2
For long I gaze upon the spectacle of a child
And did not comprehend my own heart blind
To the history that left men empty and defiled
Mark how he represents the landscaped mind
Rows and rows of green like wires or a fence
Soft as innocence, and a pink sky with a white
A cloud singly rolling by. There is a deep tense
In the knowing: purple printed dress, a tight
Face not showing the missing wilderness. Things
In a purple pocketbook perhaps, but not hidden
By clouds certainly, her rawhid mocassin brings
To boot the blue shadows of memory. Laden
Lines traverse her face with time's complexity
The umbrella perhaps extolling life's modernity
But she alone in her simple world bask in light
While her world from history takes its flight.
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