Wednesday, February 9, 2011

my mothers side of the family

The Cranes. All legs, thick and sturdy—

Kentucky living

Gardens and no running water

Else Lula’s baby wouldn’t have died in childbirth

Deszmer ran for the neighbors—

the scar on her chin, eighty-two years stubborn from falling

Ralph ran off

crick ran dry

family carried on, the children too,

With school, the army,

becoming nurses.

Vaughn spends her parents' money on a motorcycle

Kermit plays his mandolin for Ida

Annie, with fur coats still growling

in the closet and mother of pearl hair brushes—

Annie, a lady with lockets, my sister’s name-sake.

Who came before the Cranes, who saw the Lion’s Head ship

as wooden deliverance from Ireland’s hunger?

Later they roosted in Oak Ridge, behaved, made the bomb

made quilts—

I got the quilts.

The one I sleep under tonight one example.

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