Remembering Rita

Rita the second wife, because she was Catholic, in a Hindu world,

visited Portland one summer to be near her two sisters ,

all Indian born and raised.

Dark skin, dark eyes, soft to the hand everywhere, with beautiful lips ,

unique to her culture, uttered perfect English.

We spent one summer, walking and talking art,

she showing me newspaper photos and articles throughout the world,

describing her Rocco, were she employed a whole village,

baking hand-formed pottery under the soil.

I said Rita, You're in America,we have turntables and electricity.

She answered me that she sold her historic forms in

Monterey California

Las Vegas, Nevada and

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania because she heard,

it was the city of brotherly love.

On our last day together at Mt. Hood she held up the ride on a slide,

because she didn’t want to go too fast.

She then told me on the drive home,

YOU AMERICANS HAVE SO MUCH ,

BUT HAVE CREATED NOTHING, YOU

HAVE JUST TAKEN FROM THE REST OF THE WORLD.

I was shocked into silence, and later asked her sister why.

She answered, it's not you Joe, she always leaves angry,

it never changes.