In all of my past lives I am a horrible cook
but a wonderful dancer.
In all of my past lives there is never enough money
but always someone to blame.
In all of my past lives there is a child
but they do not survive.
I know this because I’ve hypnotized myself
and see this every time.
There is the one I left in a saloon
after spending too many moons crying
over the soil of his mother’s grave.
There is the one I lost in a freezing lake
after I fell in, trying to save a horse,
and then saw her future ghost.
There is the one I left wrapped in a blanket of animal skin
after singing her to sleep
and returned to find all of the teepees burned.
In all of my past lives there is a child
who does not survive.
I know this and yet still I try
every time
to find their eyes, open and alive
their hands, reaching for mine
every time
hoping they’ll hold on and tell me:
In this one, we both survive.