The Insight

Take time and digest.

fourwindowspress

by Thomas Davis

She was different suddenly.
Not in the way she looked:
Young woman, small, black eyes intense,
Her mouth used to smiling
Even when she did not feel like smiling–

But the tone of her voice had changed.
Always, before, she’d had a touch of whining
In the way she used words,
The way she thought about herself.
You could always tell she had an inner fire.
She was going to make something of herself
In spite of all the burdens she’d faced:
She had a child when she was too young,
And an uncle who liked to cut her down
When she was most vulnerable,
The reservation woes that went on and on
With family and addictions and anger
So deep it seared the spirit
With a flame too intense to be seen.

You could tell that she’d end up with a degree
In spite of the…

View original post 525 more words

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on October 8, 2013, in Poem - Not Written By Me Though, Reposted from elsewhere. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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