My father sleeps

My father sleeps peace quiet in his chair.
For almost a century, he has visited here.
He is different.
He has surrounded himself with the detritus of his memories
Selling artifacts gathered while his past breathed,
While his past was his now.
Presented proud. Moved on. Moved to unknown on-line.
I found an ancient photograph
From before the film and video,
Of a lone woman my father witnessed as “Naked Woman running from a shed.”
So often I disagree as I have since I was young child.
I saw a woman in a ghost town of the West,
Dusty and worn,
Twirling a lasso, while another lasso lays in the dust
Like a waiting snake.
She is not naked, nor nude but in boots and shorts and the sheerest of tops.
And I knew things were about to change.


Many I knew were heading home to their Playa,
Different to all that journeyed.
Looking to live outside themselves for seven days
And dance and wander blind in the dust
Following the music, following vague spirit, a muse to call
Leading them to themselves.
And I knew things were about to change.

An unknown woman, long gone.
Dust and lasso, long gone
Only brought-viewed to life by ancient stereoscopes
Allowing us to gaze back to earlier air.




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