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Understory
Michele Riedel
For Sittee and Jidde, my Lebanese grandparents who are buried at Mt. Calvary, James River.
I turn over the sweet gum leaf
on the ties between the tracks,
hearing the air-brakes moan.
I am here Sittee, Jidde,
at Mount Calvary— where you are,
watching the soar of seagulls
lost in the draw of fish below.
He says, Hello wife; marhaban.
His pant leg spattered with dry-paint.
Another roof scramble, no ladder
cane pointing, derby cap tipping.
Your grape leaves are too mushy,
Your stove not clean, Hee hee hee!
You should eat my malfouf,
cabbage rolls, they are best.
She ambles toward him with swollen ankles,
wearing shoes with cut-out toes.
Yesterday I was at the farmer’s market,
today at the stove!
His grimace fixed in craggy rock
while Sittee argues yalla!
Her hands flailing to the beat of the grass fronds.
Behind wheatgrass, I hide
protected from the spit and swear—
tossed stones, sputtered English,
lost in thick weed.
Sitte, Jidde, your shouting words
no longer scare me.
I am here, I have found the path
downstream where your sweat and toil
bring might to the rapids—
Two reeds swirl around rock fissures,
move with the rise and fall of current,
take rest at shoreline,
where dusk kissed sky soothes.
I see his wry grin-
her hand gracefully framing her belly,
Two herons move together,
taste salty James.
What I love about this poem is how it is both grounded in this place, this city, the banks of this river… and yet it reminds us of where we come from. The poet, a descendent of immigrants, acknowledges their roots and what they brought to this community: I have found the path // …where your sweat and toil // bring might to the rapids… A needful reminder in these times.
--JL
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