
Was not anything made that was made — John 1:3
A cat on the edge of water. A group of fish called school.
What I was was broken from the disparate pieces fishing in
the river. The lake. The stream of being. My brother caught
a fish. It was early in the fish-catching program they
forwarded. What is there is not of it now. But a vehicle for
travel. Separated in parts as fish in the water. Most of them
gone or swimming as fish swim together and apart in the
river. The strike of old ways. Wave-lines on the flat rock by
the shore. The Lakota believe their language was created
when their people were—FaceBook Native Hope 3/31/17.
It was the same on the trail I was there after. I had to speak
from different places in different ways to find where it
scattered. Waiting from where I was. I could follow where
they knew I was. It’s still the light by my fingers moving.
This selection comes from the chapbook, It Was Over There By That Place, available from The Atlas Review. Purchase your copy here! Our curator for this selection is Sarah Clark .
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