there is this thing
called the american dream
a dream of an america
in which you work hard
hard work and risk taking
taking risks sacrificing
sacrifice and not by chance
chanced nothing
in making their mark
on the backs of slaves
and immigrants
the richer fuller life
not for those
escaping from fear
hiding in the folds of night
nights crossing borders dry as bone
bone dry dreams
crossing invisible borders
etched into the skin of neighborhoods
windflower, her wife and two border collies live on the Mendocino Coast. She remembers placing the first poem she wrote, at the age of nine, in a flowered, tan, narrow-necked porcelain perfume bottle on her white French provincial dressing table. windflower is also a photographer celebrating the poetry in nature.
