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By R. S. Carlson
The "Mr. and Mrs. Rod Chambers" of New
York didn't fit the Minnesota,
Illinois, Iowa, North Dakota
and Virginia addresses that held Nordic and a few
German names in the parents' past. Sheer
blank faded to suspicion that we knew
some "Chambers" in the Midwest, but none who
lived in the Big Apple. Then clear
recall brought the second cousin's face
bent to the squeaking ears of corn we husked
to wrap in foil for the humid barbecue
before her wedding, the far days discussed
past my thirteen-year-old's curfew
into shadows porch light didn't chase.
© Copyright 2003, R.S. Carlson, All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 1997, 2023, The Fairfield Review Inc., All Rights Reserved.
Document last modified on: 01/06/2007