Rebuilding A Self Poem by RIC BASTASA

inside my mind are the stories they all related to me
when i was small, mama, what i like about mama,
was her story about the elastic man, who saved his
woman of affection from the deep well by simply
extending his rubber hands.
papa cannot be outdone, who with his reserved silence,
when we rode horses, and checked the tenants of the land,
told about the story of the emperor who had no clothes,
my son be always aware that people cannot be trusted
verify, check, counter check, do not believe outright.

there were myths, and parables, there are theories
so many reminders about survival kits,
about being calm and reasonable, there is no rush,
time heals, people forget, sins are forgiven, matters of
the heart must be kept inside the chest, and the family
must always be the first to consider, less travels, save money,
keep secrets, everything in moderation, keep the readings,
donate to the church, be friendly with the powers that be,
compromise with the communists, give in to what you cannot
control, save the house, remember friends, be kind to animals,

i am sculpted. I am like a stone shaped by the rain and
the air. I am tired. But i am not giving up. I like to be a new
house, not the renovated ancestral one.
I like to be in a strange place. I am going away then.

at the top of the mountain alone, (and powerful) where i
can think more, discard all my built-in beliefs, i carry nothing.
i talk to the wind. I look over the plain.

I sit alone and watch
the moon.