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Not Someone's Grand Illusion

Wisdom of the Infinite

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

The Differences

The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall

A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

The Voice Lost In the Wires

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

After Wide Sargasso Sea

Great Big Waterproof World

The Storm

I Turn Forward

Patch-Worked Trilogy

And Then It Wasn't Hard To Be Eight Years Old

Prairie Town Progress

Beyond Door Number Three

Great Spirit

Elise, Elise

The Make-Up of Molecules

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Threading Myself Through The River Called Night

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)





At Night I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

morning thoughts (begin again)

Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

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The Parts of Me Kept Secret

Some Indian women have
pale eyebrows
even invisible ones
preferring to show their
strength in their jaws
and their inner reserve.

I hid my Indian-ness
before I even knew who I was.
I exchanged Marilyn Monroe bobs
for my back long braids.

The facts were simply
not brought up.

Only half doesn't
account for much.
Not worth mentioning.
Fact was I was cheated.

A married into the family
relative was the one
to tell me all about myself.
Her name was Rose.
She didn't do it quite directly.
Everything in my family was

She'd researched it.
One side of the family tree.
A paternal Great-Grandmother was a

My other Grandmother was not
the favorite daughter of her Mother.
She always said to her.
Little brown girl, you mind me now and stay
out of the sun.
Grandma never obeyed.
Great Grandmother had a tongue so sharp
it was rumored she could cut a chord of wood.
Eileen her youngest always angered her.
She didn't want her neighbors to know
her secret. Grandmother was a full blooded fine
French lady alright. Nothing more.

Later I was to find out more
about my Mother's side of the family
how Grandpa's distant relation Caroline
had Cree blood from Canada.

I can only scratch my head.
I want nothing from this.
All I want to know is why?

why the years of silence?

Copyright June 13 2012
All Rights Reserved By Author
All Poetry/Prose are the Legal Property of this Writer
Melissa A Howells   Meloo from her Tilt-a-World

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