Tuesday, April 23

Triptych : Seeds; Binary; Old Growth

By Douglass DeCandia

Photo by Lukasz Szmigiel


We do not talk 
about the old country

As if by erasure 
we might reckon 
with that loss.

It has been not yet
one hundred years

But our story
is almost 

is a slow death.

A pledge 
of allegiance
to forget.

But we cannot 

For we are more 
than the race 
America gave us

In exchange for our language 
and songs

More than the dispossessed 
made immigrant
on another’s land.

We are
more human than that.

and memory 
of soil and sea

A people 
of a place upon this Earth

Come a long way
but still 

Like seeds
to the flower of home.



My issue
with the straight world
has nothing to do 
with sex or gender

But with a duality 
of thinking 
which imposes

That there is one
and only
one way 
of being.


Old Growth

The darkness did not come into my life,
but rose up through
when I began to stray from magic.

Mystery and wonder and play
taught away
by a colonizer’s education.

There was no room for loneliness
in the old growth forest 
of a child’s mind

All the light was used for lovely things
like make believe
and flowers.

Despair has tried 
to cut me down,
turn my dreams to lumber

But this tree 
has roots much deeper 
than I thought

And stories
before conquest
to re-member.

And so I have chosen
not to look away
or turn my back upon the darkness

But acknowledge it as invitation
to lean in
closer toward the light.


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