I married the man
from an unbroken line
of cattle rustlers and outlaws
misogynists and God-fearers
hard drinkers and card players
good-ole boys and long-suffering wives
descendants of those with skin white enough
to hold slaves
own vast farmland
distill spirits to make it through
North Dakota winters
and high plains droughts.
Each generation begetting the next
during the flush of childhood
children begetting children
misdeeds tessellating
patterns repeating
until the last born swore he’d break free.
My lineage no more pristine
a line broken and chased
from Mesopotamia to Egypt
Canaan to Europe
pogram to camp
Old World to New
studious yeshiva bochers and long-suffering wives
rag sellers and peddlers
pharmacists and accountants
descendants of those dark enough to be enslaved
ghettoized and exterminated
prohibited from owning land
superstitious and faithful
through tenement winters
and Midwestern country clubs.
Together, we built a life
first the foundation
a brick here
a stone there
held together with mortar and hard work
reaching higher
always higher
like the ancient stonemasons of Shinar
until the intent to reach beyond
wrestle power for greed
bricks formed from
misdeed and forgiveness
wounds cemented with mortar
repeating
a geometry of pain
over and over
again and again
Escher-like
growing toward the Heavens
until our dissent reached too high
and we angered God.
In a flash, we were confounded
struck dumb and incomprehensible
I could see his lips move
he could hear my voice
a modern day Babel
not a word understood
as we fell from the height
beginning the next story
where all that is left
is a creation myth
that cannot be proved
ghosts of an outlaw and a poet.
Today I flatten the plastic orange clementine bag
ink it black
its first press
yielding a crisp and geometric pattern
on a fresh canvas.
I use this piece
ink wet and smooth
to make a second pattern on a page
less clear, edges beginning to blur
and then the page itself becomes the tessellation
creates the ghost image
neither crisp nor dark
marbled and intricate
a history of the generations
recalling an earlier time
tribes in harmony
with a single shared language
when the marauder’s son
pursued the peddler’s daughter
and begot a poem.