Ancestors stare through my eyes

Some call it moods
or Mercury in retrograde or
chakras flashing

I know better

Ancestors peer through my eyes

The Neanderthal I know well
We are of long acquaintance
The wooly mammoth
and pterodactyl
come and go

My grandfather smiles back
when I brush my teeth.
He taught me how to drive
and have no boss
and continue re-inventing.

Ancestors stare through my eyes.
My father, the lover of women
and the risking of all
on a single throw of dice.

Ancestors glare through my eyes,
tribal warriors with deep distrust
of men on dainty thrones
sending others to killing death
for their own sweet comfort,
thrill and mad vision.

Ancestors thrusting from deep have-not roots
bearing the burdens of the haves and have-mores.

Ancestors weep through my eyes
for all who have fallen
into the crushing maws of karma
and who rejoice in the recycling
of the light that’s everlasting
with the dupers seen as dunces
and the knowing that the duping
is the game that we explore.

Ancestors start chainsaws
through my eyes
and cut away pretension
and all unessential
allowing space for comprehension
divinely auguring what is to come.

Ancestors laugh through my eyes
Loving and hugging
and kissing and singing

Ancestors dance through my eyes
Some call it moods.
Some never notice.

Ancestors live through our eyes.

Ed note: George Breed is a long time resident of Flagstaff and denizen walking the streets of Flagstaff with camera in hand recording the life of our bustling town. We will hear more from him as time goes on.


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