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      April 3, 2020The Never-Ending SerialRed Hawk

      When I was a boy, the Varsity Theater
      was a mile from our house. Saturdays
      we were allowed to walk there, and for a dime
      we got a cowboy double-feature and
      a long-running serial, which involved
      an incredibly stupid, weak and helpless
      but beautiful woman, upon whom
      unimaginable indignities and cruelties were
      enacted by darkly evil men with mustaches.
      Week after week we waited for her to die
      but at the last impossible moment, tied
      to railroad tracks for what reason we could
      not possibly imagine, and with a fast freight
      bearing down upon her, a heroic white man,
      he was always white and so was she,
      leaped onto the tracks and
      ripped her from the jaws of impending death.
      Imagine what the young girls in attendance
      were led to believe about their femininity and
      how, as long as they lived, they were trained
      never to doubt, but to wait for that white man and when
      he never showed up, imagine their disillusionment,
      the bitter sorrow of their loneliness and despair.
      And the young boys in attendance, we who
      sat enthralled and believing, imagine
      the burden of our lives when we were unable,
      fumbling and shaking, to untie those ropes
      and were struck down by the thundering train.

      from #66 - Winter 2019

      Red Hawk

      “Red Hawk is my Earth name, given to me by our Mother’s Grace, after a four-day water fast by the Buffalo River in the dead of winter during the worst ice storm Arkansas had seen in many years. I write poems because they are given to me by Grace, as this name was. Grace is all that I have to work with, not talent or intelligence, just Grace.”