1. Hieroglyph Incantations
Our father spoke mysterious symbols.
“I am not Egyptian but Suburban,”
his collared shirt wrapped up like a turban
as if this aisle of sage were sacred halls.
He would take a stick and draw hieroglyphs
on sandy zone of our inhibitions,
a spell or magical incantations,
this ground, ancient Egyptian papyrus.
A time for child to pay close attention.
These instructions on how to survive here,
a foreign adult world of sullen thought.
Each hieroglyph our father’s contention
on how to live our lives without a fear.
Each symbol puzzle pieces children sought.
2. Judgment of Ani
He explained to us how we were to judge.
How we were to expect the world’s judgement.
That people’s judgement is not punishment.
No reason burdens us with this one grudge.
In hieroglyphs they sit straight and narrow
with heads as beast or bird or gelded hat
each holding a hand up where each one sat
some with pointed stand or bow and arrow.
This judgement is to prove our worthiness,
our openness to hear this knowledge told
and lead our family to a better world.
His magical incantations caress
these symbols brought to us by hands of old
and gently in sand these stories unfurled.
3. Journey to the Underworld
Our father shows us the drawn instructions.
Instructions we earned through our well loved life,
our innocence and love even in strife
now that we’ve made it past one hundred suns.
He pointed with his stick where we should walk
and feeling our new found purpose took off
into the sagebrush where the trail gets rough
knowing our long path after our drawn talk.
Our father spoke mysterious symbols,
a spell or magical incantations
each hieroglyph my father’s contention
as if this aisle of sage were sacred halls
on sandy zone of our inhibitions
a time for child to pay close attention.
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