Lost from the Tribe
by Sondra Ball
His hair is straight black.
His skin is dark brown.
He looks like a Hopi
from some desert town.
I ask him his clan,
his nation, his name.
He shrugs his shoulders,
and sadly proclaims,
"I don't know my nation.
I don't know my clan.
I was raised from birth
by a fine Irish man
and his fine Irish wife.
I keep a bright fire
in the core of my soul:
a dream that I'll see
my story made whole.
I'll find my nation,
my family, my clan;
proving at last
I'm an Indian man.
I'm splintered, alone,
just another lost bird;
seeking an answer:
a picture, a word
from my first day of life."
          copyright 1997 sondra ball
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 þ SLMR 2.1a þ SB> I have been lost in visions.
--- Opus-CBCS 1.7x via O_QWKer 1.7 
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