My People

Saint Paul, 14 August 2011

Prairie junk yards don't

have license plates from

my people

No distant relative

carved his initials in a

gold rush ghost town pew

But that never stopped me

from looking or seeing things

that weren't there

A day hike from Ellis Island

my people dropped their trunks

then swore off travel

I'd like to tell my children

my people are your people

with stories of perseverance

But memories soon go flat

like cherry soda on the landing

behind the basement door

Now the black dimmer knob

on grandpa's model trains

tell me it's nearly dusk