Boarded up
planks of splintered plywood,
once painted deliciously
with native words and wisdoms,
wishes and drawings,
bright reds and yellows -

The mural sparkled
as passersby kept on walking
east and west,
as the winds blew to form the seasons
and now, almost winter,
the midday sunlight tones
the old buildings and boards golden red.

I pass by alot.
I notice posters and graphics and
ever-changing art forming,
from peeling rain soaked,
now dried papers and underneath,
many layers peek through.

I feel, I need clarity
to dissect layers I am not seeing.
I am numbing.
I am walking in a large circle,
getting high on walking
and yet I go nowhere.

I look at the carved messages,
made by Inuit women
who are lost in this city,
who feel safer in this corner.

The street long message board has deteriorated.
I wander.
My eyes wander.
My peripheral vision sees a dismal sight,
poverty and hopelessness,
artificial happiness and
I walk away.
My day is yesterday and
yesterday was summer.
I walk away
from my own head.
My thoughts are not clear.
The prevailing winds do have messages...

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Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

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