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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.

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