Poland Remembered ... and my Father |
Monday Mar 12 2007
By Stu Whitley
Bio
there's a fading, sepia photograph of me, shipboard, clutching my mother's hand
immigrants to a new life, worlds separated by an ocean from all that was then known
taking seven days to cross. now holding the photograph close, it's not easy
to discern what I was thinking, for my expression - fast frozen these many years
tells nothing of the wonder, edged with fear that I surely then must have felt,
for all that was familiar, precious and true to me was about to be surrendered
in exchange for promises of fresh beginnings at journey's end. I arrived, dislocated
in a new life of fearsome opportunity, where anything was possible
some time ago, not long, it seems, though no photograph records it
I stood firmly clutching the hand of what I believed to be certain
yet all that seems sure rarely is, for we cannot know with perfect clarity
all that lies mysteriously beyond the oceans we choose to cross
it's only now I realize the full extent to which it can happen,
that I can be an immigrant once more in a dislocating new world;
a world that has journeyed to me, and anything becomes possible again
Written by eldering at Learning
Tagged with: aging generations grave hegel poland
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