I revisited an old journal and found this poem that I took note of from an art gallery on Main Street, in the Over-The-Rhine area of Cincinnati during one of their Final Friday art events in April 2009. Sigh. I miss Final Friday art events in Cincinnati.
And there's just something about prose and/or poetry that reminds me of how the telling of each other's "stories" is important... showing how connected we all are.
So I'm sending my thanks to this poet who shared the poem below:
the four directions
i believe there are not real divisions between us,
all of our drawn boundaries are temporary,
they represent our fears.
the directions contain one another.
we may travel north, south, east or west.
we never truly leave a place behind
or arrive at a new place.
we are limitless in this way.
we cannot be contained.
the directions are in our hearts.
they may change circumstance from year to year.
the story lines change.
each story melts into the next.
this is my version of north, south,
east and west.
my four directions are sixty small
pieces of my heart.
-michelle lea red elk
member of the Indian Arts and Crafts Association