By Cheryl Harawitz
Reaching into the dark
An invisible thread passes over my palm;
I close my fist over it.
All the way down, it gently pulls me,
Guiding me back to my tribe.
Aunts, uncles, cousins and kin;
Their memories are alive in my bones
While I sleep in their midst;
Separated by time and space.
Features like mine, careers and hobbies too;
I swim upstream toward them.
Time and space evaporate as I awake in their midst;
I am of their tribe;
They delight in telling me stories.