There you are

By Robert Henssler

There you are 

In that back room

We refer to as the casita 

Hanging on the wall

There not knowing life’s road

Not knowing at twenty-one 

There in your Victorian bouffant 

And blouse

A girl born at an age of many things yet to come

As I look at you, proud of who you are

I wonder how life kept you distant 

So very far

A third generation born out on Kansas’ plains 

Memories fresh of civil war

Leaving scars on revolutionary tales

What was life like in ’92

Were you looking back

The Brits burned our House 

As Grandparents arrived

Did you meet them 

Those Deútschland folk

Were you their Schnuckiputzi

Their ˈɡranˌdôdər dear

And when you met 

the blacksmith’s son

How did you feel 

What new world had begun 

Tales I’ve been told 

Of adventures you and he

Trains and coaches up and beyond the Grand Prairie’s end

Did you fish from glacier fed streams 

Dining on the Rockies back

And what of the man 

The farrier’s son

Where in Deútschland did he hail from

This man of his family’s church 

And in 1921 at your age of 42

Did you know that seed 

Would flourish and grow 

Become the brother of the one

The one who by birth would be your undone.

What in birth 

New life

Siblings born

Should cause such grief so forlorn 

Why were they left

Alone

Deprived 

Of their mother’s form

But the one you birthed in ’21

Your first your only son

Would grow in the kitchen

Under your sister’s toe

Trials and tribulations 

On poverty’s edge

Honed his character 

Sharpened his wit 

Growing to the man

Who did commit body and soul 

Defending our flag

And all it represents 

And with his troth

His loyalty pledged 

To love and care 

To my mother he wed 

So here I am 

Standing in the room 

Holding your photo 

More than 100 years old

43 is far too young

Marie 

Far too young

For me to see.