sitting atop a mesa crayola extracted from her satchel
a dictionary containing the six letters secretly floating
between S & T. as a child she remained untrained in

its traditions - she staggered across words that to her
were unpronounceable, running through the probable
sounds until an utterance slowly began to take shape

on her tongue - she'd stare at the pictures of fantastic
animals & wonder as to whether she'd ever see them
again, wonder about whether they were real, whether

she was real, sitting there on a mesa studying the lost
tract of a nation she'd never know. older now crayola
understands, she closes her eyes then divides by three.