Solid Ground

I'm a blond Bohunk granddaughter of Daphne and Buff,

of Alice Queen Steele, and Hiram Jasper, (known as Mac).

I'm born of Marion Edith, (always called Cleora),

and Romain Eric, (answered to Ro).

The names hold me up, start me off each day

on solid ground. The names tell my place,

trace the cross-continental movement of Yanks and Swedes,

of mothers of ten and twelve.

Deedee

Donna

Nona

Cora Marie

Bud and Marge.

Mechanics and carpenters, cooks and threshers, soldiers

leaning on the steering wheels of Plymouths and Fords.

Teachers, mapping a route west through brown

and green country from Johnstown to Devil's Lake,

Saint Paul to Puyallup.

The names repeat in family lore:

Bert, whose appendix burst,

Wade, who drowned,

Norma, who drank.

I can sing a Civil War marching song

sung once by all the drinkers,

drivers, jokers,

aunts, uncles, cousins,

friends of family

from the same stock of names.

Fran and Mid,

Gertie and Jess,

Cal and Emma Mae,

Lyda and John,

Etta,

Effa,

Rollie,

Jen,

Jake,

Jehial,

Isabel.

Carol Colin, 1994-2004