MORNING
This morning,
when I crawled
from under my blanket,
when I stood
before my mother's hogan door,
outside looked
as if it had been crying.
The sky was hanging heavy
with gray tears.
I stood at the door
of my mother's hogan
and looked out
at the gray, sad morning.
My father came.
He stood beside us.
He spoke
in a happy way
to me
and to my mother.
Then the gray tears
on the sky's face
melted.
The clouds pushed away
and the sun
smiled through them.
Now it is gray again,
but I cannot forget
that when my father spoke
the sun came
and looked down
upon us.
