I know how my father
Picked through the desert
Looking for ruins.
I know the golf clubs
Swinging them through sage
And dens made uneasy
In their own shadows then.
All for a bird point or pottery piece
Charred with the markings
Of the Anasazi who first fired them.
There was my father,
Hunched over a cache of stones,
Sorting them out like so many bones
And discarding all but the one
Thin flake that he held up
For me to see. Just this one blade,
Chipped and notched along its center.
My father, grinning then,
With his club off to the side
And the one flake held high
In his shaking hand.
DAMON FALKE, a former resident of Moab, Utah, is the author of Broken Cycles, a collaboration between his poetry and the photography of Rebekah Wilkins-Pepiton, formerly of Pagosa Springs. Falke is a graduate of the University of Texas and St. John’s College-Santa Fe.
He lives in Marshall, Texas with his wife Cassie and their two sons.
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