Daddy's Tackle Box

In the cool basement of my childhood,
lit by dancing furnace shadows,
I explore a room of memories.

A glint catches my eye.
I'm drawn to the flash.
I brush the dust and webs of long
dead spiders from this wonderful container.
It was my daddy's tackle box.

I lift the discovery from a decade
of dust.
It's light in my hand and cool
to my touch..

The hasp for locking,
never keeping anyone out,
permits my intrusion.

The treasures,
gently left in black
plastic trays,
want my caress.

There are names foreign and strange,
Shiester,
Rappala,
Rooster tail
and Arborgast.

There are tools that confuse me.
A basket with no flowers.
A stringer without needle.
A hook called Eagle Claw,
and a spoon for Bass
.
The hook,
holding last year’s bait,
dried,
cracked and red,
promising a catch that
never came,
softly lies across
a glass covered box of flies,
made by the hands of ancient men,
scratched,
tanned and salty.
The secrets they held,
I'll never know.
Now only smelling their craft.

This and more was in
the box that my daddy
used long before I was a boy,
catching the amber Blues
and the speckled cats.
 

Searching,
always trying,
but never catching
"The Big One."
Wanting one for the wall,
a trophy to hang for time and
pride and love.

This small box of love,
with the smell of oil,
water,
fish and blue sky and summers long
before marriage,
job or wife,
captivated me.

This was from a time that
 held only fish,
Daddy,
and the open  lake.

I saw a young father
of my youth.
No gray,
no limp,
no heart that gives out
and no promise of early death.
Only my father as me,
the lover of fish and
harbinger of the feeding.

As my eyes close to
hold back a sob,
I go back to a time a time of life,
a time of dad,
of yellow lures,
red bobbers and
fluorescent line.

It was a time of my father
I was never able to see.
 
 

Trail of my Tears

I walked the trail of Tennessee
when I felt the call rise up,
Carolina also let me know that I was needed,
While on the trails the tears arose in my eyes,
I felt a nostalgic tug of my heart,
I felt the presence of my old adversary, Death,
We nodded to each other,
Death had walked these same
trails many years before,
Death had walked hand in
hand with my people,
I felt a pain, my feet began to bleed,
I was very hot and very cold,
My stomach cried out for food,
The elements pounded me
and my children,
rain and snow,
my young little baby died
after the beating she received
from a cruel soldier …..
I could not make her stop crying,
I wanted Death to take me
but yet I fought him,,
we talked several times,
I could hold the tears no longer,
I followed the trail across the
United States,
I counted the lost souls that walked with me,
Their numbers were more than 20,000,
They cried to me, begged for my help,
I could not reach out to them,
I was powerless,
Was I dead ?
had my enemy Finally won …..
No yet I lived on,
I felt my ancestors lift me up,
Many hands carried me.
I had returned to that spot on
Which I had begun and I
Cried the tears of my people,
I cried for the children,
The old and the young,
I felt a hatred rise up like
a bile in my soul,
I wanted to kill,
But the feeling was taken from me.
A great chief came to me and
Told me that ignorance was
Not a reason for hate
Nor for death,
A lesson was taught,
but at such a great price.
Just before Death re-claimed
The great chief…..
I was told,
"Be proud my son…..
for you are a Cherokee."
 

Of sauerkraut and cole slaw
 

On the warmest day of summer, the clan would gather,

Keeping alive a tradition as old as grandma’s memory,

And like grandpa, it had survived West Virginia coal

mines and Ohio winters, the green heads of sweet leafy

cabbage would be cut and shredded into long stringy,

strands, the juicy pulp would be placed into a stone vat,

to later be mixed with pungent red vinegar, or placed

into plastic tubs of frothy, cool and creamy mayo,

it was a time of family, of childhood and grandpa,

it was a time of sauerkraut and cole slaw, but now,

it’s a time, like grandpa that only survives in my mind
 
 
 

Apache Wedding...

Lifetime planned by loving union,
taken from us in moments,
wedding songs chose with
intricate care,
replaced by sounds of
silence,
best man and brides
maid,
sobbing as ashes drift
by.

Golden medal of Michael,
I wore for protection,
you take to God's
loving arms.

Engagement ring, holding
promise of life,
passed on in damnation
of death.

Two tribes, once united in
life,
hold hands now,
a family of death.

Wa-he-nee-na-ha,
(RainingHeart)
my greatest love,
now deepest loss.

Cherokee eyes, that
yesterday reflected Apache face,
now unquenchable pools
of green sorrow.

Happiness at meeting you,
honor of knowing you,

horror at losing you,
and promise of living
life for you.
And fear of life
without you.
I am missing you.
 

Moments missed by a dad…

I missed the moment
you were born,
not being there
to hold mom’s hand.

First steps, first words,
and the first day of class,
all missed by me,
but I didn’t know.

I didn’t know that
in my future the greatest
gift a woman could give…
a family, would be given
to me.

If I had know,
I would have been there.

Thinking of what
has been missed,
I cry.

Knowing those times
can never be “firsts” again.

But even though entering
late into your childhood,
I beam at your greatness.

My heart leaps with
your joys and my
tears flow with your
sorrows.

I am so happy that
your love is mine,
truly I could love no
other woman
like your momma
and no other children
could I love like you.

Little Bear and Chey,
my life is full
through your love.

I don’t have the world
to give but my love,
honor, pride and heart
I give.

You each are special
to me,
and my love will
forever be yours.

Thank you for your
love, faith and smiles…
I am forever blessed.
 
 

Despair of longing...

Lips tasted, now untouched,
arms that comforted me,
no longer embrace,
touched curls of silken coal,
now miss Cherokee fingers,
departure destroys my soul
as longing heart tears from
heaving chest.

My love, gone for now,
haunts twisted dreams,
sleep is foreign and food
poison.

Home doesn't want me, and
love, is my only commodity
to give,
but fear overwhelms my path.

No totem for solace,
no eyes to gaze into,
lonely, my burden grows.

Feelings forming an ocean,
pulling me down,
black cold water,
suffocating lungs,
burning as life dissolves.

Surface sunlight darkens,
voices beckon from below,
eternity grasps me,
pulling me to darkness.

A brown hand from heaven
clutching, pulling,
saving me.

It's your hand Rain,
keeping me from despair,
promising love again, lips
that I've known, and life
that we will know.