Laura Tohe

My son and I sat on the bed of a late half-light
from the hallway slanted across gray walls.

He spoke of toes and scratches,
and I comforted in the desert tones of our language
we left behind across winter dry plains.

His brown eyes
    glowing in the shadows with eternal life,
gaze at me
feeling the sounds of these words
I so seldom speak.

In this moment caught between languages
    we shared my words
        as if they were secrets
nourished within this half-light.

From No Parole Today, West End Press.
© 1999 Laura Tohe

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