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Over open flames and sleep on the ground. How she ended up with these people as she leafs through issueĪfter issue of the San Francisco Chronicle, searching To say to Sadie and the others speak only German. Though the fountain pool is too small and no one else plays. She brought along a swimming costume and tennis dress, Who reclines, a small white dog on her lap. In a leather-bound journal-about the weather, Aloisia’s snoring,Ĭards games-mostly solitaire, these days. From a coffee can, she offers homemadeĬhocolate chip cookies, rock hard. She vacuums the marbleįloor and dries the dishes, always bumping into things, breakingĪ plate or cup. Her favorite is horseradish, fresh and raw. Sadie wears polka dots,Įven to dig in the garden afternoons. Maria-if that is her name-stays out of sightīut somehow manages to keep the orchids misted. She walks to Mass at dawn each morning, returns to chop wood Glasses of iced tea on little tables.Īloisia never smiles. Ferns, hibiscus vines, lounge chairsīeside a fountain. To meet me: the four of them, together in a glass-walled structure,įlooded with sunlight.
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I imagine my great-grandmothers, none of whom lived Devi, age nine, speaking of her great-grandmother Reprinted with permission in Fans of My Unconscious, Black Rock Press, 2013 Reprinted with permission on The Best American Poetry 2006 We place another order,įirst published in Margie, Volume Four, 2005 Our diaries recordĭo not write our dreams. Go on to pound nails and write up deals, not musings. We have work to do, and a dozen children. Sadie-we all have stories, yes, but we’re not thinking To earn him the cash to open a haberdashery and marry Plenty of prostitutes need their dresses pressed, enough Later, after the earthquake, finds two ironsĪnd a board in the rubble of San Francisco.
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Scattering to South Africa, Connecticut, Missouri,Īnd finally, California for the Gold Rush-Īaron and Lena run the Yosemite campground, general We milk cows or deliver the mail or leave,