Articles/Essays – Volume 56, No. 1
Listen the Out Loud version of this poem here.
It was somewhere around here, I think.
Where they buried that baby,
yeah, the one I told you about.
No, not by the pioneer obelisks
a wife for each side
fresh flower at its feet.
No, not by the veterans’ memorial—
What even was the Black Hawk War?
No, not by the new grandparent grave
clean-cut and temple-topped.
Not mine but close.
No, not by the flat slabs of a family plot.
Once upon a time
I jumped across them like stepping-stones
and held my grandma’s hand.
She searched out neglected relatives
an aunt, a cousin, would it have been?
But anyways, now where’s that baby?
He was somewhere around here, I think.
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