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.