A Tight Mystery, Furled Up (a genealogist’s day)

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A Tight Mystery, Furled Up (a genealogist’s day)

Mist draws back
in a morning
packed with possibility:
    ~Hills are God’s gift to our imagination !

I confront the workday
an endless tan prairie, unbroken.
A door sticks,
    not quite open, not quite shut.
Finally I settle on
“Oak summit
    long panel gray”
St Ignatius shuffles back in the dust,
in the heat of the afternoon:
    ~Who can say what lies on the other side of a hill?

At night as I sift
through still photos
of men, of women
    long and gray
they speak to me
in questions
   unanswerable.
I potter,
neither up nor down
    the insurmountable,
    impassible mountain of
what they asking.
Stuck, holden by their eyes–
they ask, they beg:
       “why did anyone love me?”
and
       “where are they now?”
…indeed…

-Charity Joh1864nson, 201Photo 24

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