1930, TAMA

We were all there, mother, sister, grandma, grandpa,

Aunt Ruth, Aunt Lillian, Uncle John, daddy, the baby,

Visiting Great Grandma Chitty, a small white house,

Indian corn hung at the back door, Indians

Coming to trade weaving for sugar, squaws

Of the Fox tribe, decaying on a reservation.

Great Grandpa Ben, the postmaster of Tama,

Collected birds' eggs, arranged in a glass case,

Dusty now, all his attention turned

To a sick canary, silent with the pip.

Little hump-backed, sun-baked Great Grandma

Set the Sunday table, roast beef with gravy,

My favorite on broken bread, and then we ate

And then we all piled into the Model T and waved

Goodbye, the American flag waving from

The stiff staff jutting out from the front porch.