Family Tree

March 31, 2016

My Father's voice shook as he said the word "free."

As if his own words had caught him off guard.

His eyes met mine and foretold a great grief

He held my hand as we walked to the yard.

Directing my attention toward the tree,

He would demand I stare hard.

Pointing, he named those who came before me

I followed his index like a slave and North Star

I had a great imagination at age three

And two eyes that saw far.

But when I looked at my family tree,

Those golden, twisted ropes were all my eyes could see.

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