old enough to be my father

I can’t even recall how many times
I’ve been asked if I was his daughter.

After so many years now
I’ve lost count.

The years didn’t matter to me
though to other people they did.

Standing on the Lake Geneva beach,
July of 1981, late afternoon
before a large spiritual gathering
I was twenty-four and new to the movement.
So many people there I’d never met before.

A young guy from the ashram in Chicago
with long blond hair and a reddish beard
sporting a baby blue swimsuit
asked me where I was from.

“Detroit”, I said.

“Wow”, he says, “then you’ve heard the news. “
“It’s spreading like wildfire here
about the young chick that’s run off with our teacher.”

Staring at the lake
I answer softly, “yes,  I know… I’m the one.”

April 17, 2018, c. m. brooks

~ by christinambrooks on April 17, 2018.

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