The Blue Marble

I walked slowly across the empty landscape

my head bent low,  deep in thought

here I stand in the long empty Camp

struggling to understand what happened

an internment camp filled with thousands

of Japanese American prisoners,

a school, a store, a post office

and the remains of a dozen guard stations

now only slabs of cement,

piles of blackened charcoal

pushed to the edges of each carefully numbered block

the ground now covered with nails

The entire Topaz Interment Camp

razed, pushed from sight and memory

hidden from guilt, far from town,

far from their homes,

now tucked in tight neat rows.

they lived with little to bring comfort

barren of life as they knew it.

so little to remind them of who they were

of what they had been

Shards of a broken plate with a delicate design

imprinted on one side

a rusty chimney pipe stranded

all swept clean in the desert winds

It was here that I found a single blue marble

sitting on the edge of an ant pile.

I picked it up and wiped it clean.

I rolled it over and over in my hand.

I carried it for a time,

in my thoughts I saw a little girl

playing with her single toy.

cramped in tight quarters

so little of what once was carefree.

Those dark eyes and shiny black hair

punctuated the differences

that threatened innocence

a mother, a father not able to supply daily needs

brothers off to war to prove allegiance

to the flag that now flew above the camp

that held them captive

This camp though tight and fearful

was made home by a single beautiful plate,

by art created from so little.

reminders of what they had been

school teams organized and played

by these Americans far from town-

looked at suspiciously and pushed

to the distant desert, exiled

This idea so wrong,
 the penalty so severe

erased by bulldozers and fire

left to fade from memory

this camp named for a gemstone

slowly formed by heat and time

I saw them here in my mind

walking proudly, playing skillfully,

eating, laughing, learning, shining.

I cannot forget them

my emotions rise as I quietly return the blue marble

held sacred in my hands, cradled for a time

as this camp held them,

it became hallowed

I remember

My Passageway

My Passageway

It hung crooked from ancient hinges and years of use.

An odd combination of 2x4s and cross braces,

diagonal wires tugged it into square,

but gradually it sagged and wobbled.

This was my passageway to fun, freedom and childhood imagination...

  My Seven Seas: an old claw-foot bathtub used as a trough.

  Outmaneuvering the goldfish-colored Moby Dick swimming

  below, I captained my boat - careening across monster waves

  to deserted islands. "X" marked the spot to

  unexpected paths which led to buried treasure

  through desert, jungle and exotic sights, sounds and smells.

A large, rusted spring pulling it tightly shut

when stretched, erupted in metallic pings and twangs

every time it opened, seeming to protest.

Then, with a clap and jarring of joints,

the matter was settled with a shout.

With anchor dropped, I cast ashore - penetrating deep into enemy

  territory. I crept silently up on the fortress and stormed the barn-

  like castle portico, dueled foes in battle, and vanquished evil

  warlords. Marvelous bravery, courage and honor won.

A wire looped over the top brace,

worn smooth by sliding into position day after day.

Weather and sun had turned it gray -

the ashen look of age.

I heard the thundering of applause

as I took the field for the final game of the World Series.

I had home-field advantage. I knew every clump and patty.

So real, the crack of bat and the slap of leather,

as everyone vied to be champion. No fence too high as I swung

my bat with a strained grunt, then ran with fire in my feet. I felt

the joy of the conqueror.

Cracks radiated from a single knot hole.

Small fissures spread along the grain.

Most of the cedar post's shaggy bark peeled

and hung around the hinges.

 The smell of summer hung like rose-perfumed air

 that oozed into pores and lifted me dreamily along.

 Lying on my back, lazy clouds drifted over -

 smoke signals from foreign lands calling me to action.

Along the ragged top,

gaps and torn edges lined up as uneven teeth,

gnawed on by a succession of bored horses.

Arched necks stretched to reach untouched pasture,

leaving behind threads of hair tugged loose, stranded.

Night fell... eerie sounds came from the dense aboriginal jungle

as headhunters played hide-n-seek

through endless wire-like vines. I narrowly escaped

impenetrable stands of woods, tight as fences.

Stealth and quick thinking delivered me to safety.

Yet, all drew me homeward

as Mom's voice called me.

A never-ceasing joy flowed in every thought.

Hunger forced itself into my imagination

fatigue slowed my progress.

I made my retreat through My Passageway,

guarded fiercely by the creaks and groans,

and then abruptly slammed shut at day's end.

Summer 2017