OK, shall we start again?
I'm going to read about a dozen more poems.
[AUDIENCE CHATTERING]
This poem is called "Home Town," and it's very,
very freely adapted poem suggested by a Tlingit Indian
there in the Northwest coast.
"Home Town."
I'm grateful.
Thank you.
"My uncle is actually adrift in a box on a pine plank.
I voyage to the land of the eagles, where I marry and grow
fur.
In my suit of feathers, I fly to the township of complacency,
where my uncle fishes.
I seize him by the hair.
'Vengeance!' I say.
'Ayyee!' my uncle cries.
His wife runs from the house, grabs him by the ankle.
With my new wings, I pull them both along.
My cousin comes from the school house,
catches the hem of her mother's dress.
'Vengeance!' I say.
'Come down,' she answers.
One by one, all the people of that wretched town
run out of their houses.
They grab each other by ankles, knees, trousers, shawls,
dresses, fish lines, toes, and members.
Their wage is nothing against the strength
of my eagle's wings.
I carry them, a great chain out over the bay of forgetfulness
and let go."