Tags
1951, Albuquerque, birds, Ford, Jung, Kaiser, Native American, New Mexico, poetry, sunrise
Albuquerque, New Mexico, 1951
These days the birds start singing
before dawn, calling up the sun,
like the Native American tribe
that performed a ritual
every day to help
their Father the sun
come up over the horizon.
I remember the car
my family had, a 1947 Kaiser,
a huge, gray, overturned boat
of a car, with a back seat big
as a bed, and I remember
the sorrow I felt
when my father sold it
and bought the little maroon Ford,
which I hated for not being
the Kaiser; my life was such
that every loss
made my world smaller
and darker, made me feel
like the sun never would
come up again.
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