Peek-A-Boo

It matters what you say.
It matters what you do

and how you vote, and it
matters when you look

away.  Remember the game
we played as children?  We

covered our faces and closed
our eyes and knew

that we were hidden
from view.  Peek-a-boo.

But here’s the thing,
white men in the dark

suits, your marble hall,
your fleeting fame,

this is not a game,
we see you still, even

as you hide behind
your own hardened masks.

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These Teachers

I meant to turn back
hours ago,
but the sage,
but the river,
but the evening sun
on my shoulders
and the path
that leads up
and up, the whoosh
of air as it parts
for the sparrow,
the scent
of juniper
arrives
and remains
in a constant
state of arrival,
the sole
of my shoe
leaves an imprint
in the dust, a heart
shaped rock,
and this quiet
prayer that one
does not lose
these earthly
teachers,
but rather,
becomes them.