by Sherman Alexie
I never spoke
the language
of the old women
visiting my mother
in winters so cold
they could freeze
the tongue whole.
I never held my head
to their thin chests
believing in the heart.
Indian women, forgive me.
J grew up distant
and always afraid.
From:
Anthology of Modem American Poetry, by Cary Nelson
Copyright ©:
2000, Oxford University Press
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