Poetry‎ > ‎Reflector on the Post‎ > ‎

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