Yellow Page

The skin has weathered

on this right hand

where the veins hold a river

of the blood of my ancestors

incense fills the air

and on the waves of a smokey carpet

I travel in time

to the clink clink and sharp

aroma curling a path from

an incense holder

to the altar

dedicated to a lady in blue

surrounded by a

halo of stars

dots of light

streaming down

like from a strand of Christmas lights

a faint memory of my teen years

inside the nunnery school

where life was so simple

obey

sometimes rebel

be cared by substitute

mothers, teachers

in black and white

the wives of the Christ

I longed to embrace

and be like at once

The skin on my face

has weathered

leaving a half smile

etched on this older face

tentatively looking into

the foggy distant future

of my own life

The skin like

this yellow paper

is

weathered but still here

use-able

and kind.

Austin, TX July 2009