Pacing Out A Soul Poem by Patti Masterman

The basement cell where Geronimo was sometimes kept
Had an uneven floor, said to be caused by his constant pacing.
I too pace the walls inside my mind, for it seems to be holding me
Though sometimes I can escape it, through imagination.

There are large boulders and remnants of pottery
Scattered throughout many places, proof of others,
Whose prisons were diverse times; long ago settlements,
Of names now forgotten or scarcely mentioned anymore.

The people were always less durable than soil or stone:
They flowed like liquid from area to area, seeking water, buffalo, prosperity.
Children were their true riches, and longevity their blessing;
If you didn't die in childbirth, you might live a long time.

I feel their artifacts all around me, half-buried in clay and sand;
Many years are like only a moment, to a planet one-sixth the age
Of the total universe. But the past haunts me, watching as it does,
From the eyes of all their children, still walking this earth.