Last of the Line

What I will probably do is launch a separate blog to write about my mom and our family. Meanwhile..

Last of the Line

I only understood

Long after they’d left

Long after I could have

Asked them the questions

That would have joined the stories.

They ask to be told, but I can only write

And thread them inexpertly,

Like a reluctant tailor’s apprentice:

Great grandma in May Day parades,

Great grandpa making Prohibition wine,

Grandpa at HUAC (House UnAmerican Activities Committee)

 not naming names,

Grandma helping the evicted

back inside.

Will a city embrace them

like some kind friend

or recite them,

Like Kaddish,

And score them with voice

Into hereafter,

Dreams written

Into memory

By the last of the line?