In 1911

 

Listed in 1911 were four houses

recorded in black cursive long-hand

holding then the seeds to my existence.

One in the swamp in the South bore my father's name

and three in the West

where dwelt the Tribes of the Sea

held the other peices of the helix.

Unravelling the threads

that doubled every time I came closer

I saw a woman alone

no trace of the ten children she bore,

two were dead and the living

all sailed for less green lands.

I reached across the empty place at the table

to tell her that the auburn curls she gifted

have passed to my son;

that I now gently stroke her hair

to lull him to rest.

On the Island was a young girl

whose face I reflect

in order that our tribe may remember.