a poem by Roxy Gordon

Judy and I came back to Texas from
California in 1970. We stayed for
a while with my grandparents. The
highway through their place was
widening and my grandfather wasn’t
able to move the fence, so I did. I
was in the pasture one fall day, sawing
up an old telephone pole to use for
corner posts–when I realized
someone was watching me.
I looked to see who and could see no
person, but instead I could see
an area of some disturbance in
my vision perhaps fifty yards
away, up by a bunch of prickly
pear. I tried to see; I could
see no better. But then, there
came to me another way of seeing,
without my eyes which still saw
only a vague disturbance. Some
other part of me saw a man.
He was an Indian, or I think a man before
Indians were identified as such. He
was short and stocky. His hair
was loose and long and tangled badly. He
was very dirty. He was naked.
We watched one another.

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