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History Lesson

ISSUE:  Spring 2018

I imagined us a nation
because our house
was our corner of the world.

Of course, it was 
your house, and my world.

Remember when those two 
large paintings arrived?

I was so scared. Inside 
those boxes were all your
conspiracies. How secretive 

I was, agent against history,
the newest New Yorker

in New Mexico, revolting 
against a past that wasn’t 

mine, scoffing at Santa Fe,
struggling to understand
its dust, so unimpressed
by its art collectors and its 

architecture. It’s hard to 
hike in Hender Scheme, 
not to scuff heels

in hills. What’s in the attic
but a vacuum-packed
subconscious, a few

moldy berries of memory, 
a few buried Members Only 
jackets. Let us not keep 
the cellar full of boxes 

untouched. Let us not keep 
the paintings of Indians hidden. 



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