If those who make the rules
about what kids read
and when
think that non-fiction is best
and that neither fiction
nor poetry
has a place in the lessons
of older children
then the chances are
they'll never see this
because this isn't factual comment
it's a poem,
that's all.
or is it?

The little dog sits
staring out the large window
to the street
beyond

where he is a wolf on the Steppes
a jackal on the Serengeti
a coyote of the Mojave

But for now
he sits

My hope for you

Is to grow
to have a life
out from under the weight
of legacy
of tradition
of the memory of pain and death
that surrounds you

But I can not make you see
the hope I have for you
if your eyes are closed to the future
while your heart is chained to the past

Two trees stood in a wood
Three saplings grew beneath

One tree killed suddenly
in a storm misunderstood

The other dies slowly
from infestation

One sapling is transplanted
to another place out of sight
from the other two

Two are left
But one has turned towards
the sun

and the other

back to the stumps behind

so they no longer see each other

A place to hold things
like dishes
or secret meetings about Iraq

both with probably break at some point anyway

A stretcher by a roadside
some place hot
as long as the person on it
isn’t completely covered
there is hope

A guardian of the dune,
broken, a mere portion of it's once self
lies alone for a moment
in a rivulet left by tide's retreat
protected from wind's power
on little clumps of still damp sand
to dry in the cold sun
but soon
tide returns
and where you will lie to rest next
only the water knows