Microhistory

Alone? Not so. My aunts and uncles,
my father, cousins, siblings,
together we weave
a web of stories

as families do. We create our history
out of memories,
photographs from 1933,
and the weight of the years.

Grandpa, Grandma, here you still are
as words and warmth between us.
Here you are, the warp that holds
this family's weft in place.

So many poems yet unwritten
about our family. I'll take up my pen
and make the attempt.
While there are still words,
while we remember,
while the ache of loss remains
at the bottom of my heart

we'll talk our history into being.

And I'm part of that history.
Anchored, not drifting.

Sara Norja

If you have any comments on this poem,  Sara Norja  would be pleased to hear from you.