She would be in her nineties now
but I only imagine her at four -
still awkward,
the roundness of her face
waiting to be stretched out
over family cheek bones.
Since photographs
were luxuries beyond
their means,
I can only guess
that her long hair
had a wave to it,
like ripples over a dark pond,
as mine once did.
I've only heard about you,
Aunt Julia,
in the way family scars are shared -
the teller of the tale
surprised to be telling,
but needing to tell
in order to help make sense.
My grandmother, your sister,
was twelve
and in charge.
Because adolescence
had not been invented in 1926.
What were you looking for
with your long hair flowing
when you opened the coal stove?
Deep in the waters of story
this is the moment
when madness sparked,
burning generations.
See this poem on Words Dance: http://wordsdance.com/2014/10/julia-by-mark-bonica/
but I only imagine her at four -
still awkward,
the roundness of her face
waiting to be stretched out
over family cheek bones.
Since photographs
were luxuries beyond
their means,
I can only guess
that her long hair
had a wave to it,
like ripples over a dark pond,
as mine once did.
I've only heard about you,
Aunt Julia,
in the way family scars are shared -
the teller of the tale
surprised to be telling,
but needing to tell
in order to help make sense.
My grandmother, your sister,
was twelve
and in charge.
Because adolescence
had not been invented in 1926.
What were you looking for
with your long hair flowing
when you opened the coal stove?
Deep in the waters of story
this is the moment
when madness sparked,
burning generations.
See this poem on Words Dance: http://wordsdance.com/2014/10/julia-by-mark-bonica/
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