The Visit
Our hound dog announced them,
His howling
Loud as the quiet that preceded it.
The two sisters had picked a day of record heat
To hike through fields and woods
To the house where they were born almost 80 years before.
Their grandmother's house.
Ours.
The big trees are gone, says the chatty one,
Looking up at the remaining
Mighty oaks that dwarf the house.
Their grandparents' bedroom is our living room,
And the old well, where they drew water with a bucket,
Has been usurped by one with an electric pump
That deprives us when the power's out.
They rock on the front porch
And tell us where things used to be,
The corn crib, the hog field, the saw mill that cut boards
For the houses and shacks that dotted this land
But have left no scars.
I offer to drive them down to the old cemetery.
I want to say "carry," like my grandmother would have,
I'll carry you to the cemetery,
But I'm afraid they'll take my nostalgia for mimicry.
The quiet one leans close to the headstone to read the name.
I step forward to read it for her
But her sister, standing furthest away, says
That's Ephraim, Mamie's first husband, from Ohio.
She says Ephraim with a long E,
And I hear my grandmother calling Corinne with a long O.
We come to visit, says the quiet one,
But y’all all asleep.
I guess we’ll see you in the great beyond.
She's full of questions on the drive back.
Where's your husband work?
Our production company, that has us both at computers
Nights and weekends, suddenly seems a trifle.
You got a family?
Childless by choice is sacrilege.
Y'all go to church?
I've got just enough religion left
Not to lie about it.
Confusion has silenced the chatty one.
Our landlord's fickle moving of mounds of earth,
Just because he has a backhoe,
Has betrayed her memory.
I ask about the old hickory in the far field
To distract her
And to escape the quiet one's disapproval.
Back at the house, the quiet one's ready to go.
She's always in a hurry, says the chatty one.
She wants to stay on, tell us what this place was like.
Come on, now, the quiet one says.
It'll be evenin' before we get home.
And I know she means afternoon.
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