Easter ‘57
is scribbled on the back
of a torn black and white—
her Sunday dress blown by
a breeze, his face caught
between a squint and a stare.
My mom was ten then.
In a few years the farm
they labored hard for would
fail, the cows would be sold
and a house in town bought.
Her mother would fall sick
and her dad grow weary.
Thirty years later, we
headed down south to find
their gravestone, like their farm,
well-tended and tidy.
The house in town was lost
to wild weeds and decay.
Mom once told me she saw
her dad in my brother—
both dark-haired and lanky.
And me—I don’t have much
else but a few stories
and my love for a black
and white of two people
standing straight and tall on
a sunny, windy day
of Easter ’57.
I started writing this poem when I was in my late teens. My mother’s parents died before I could ever know them. This poem has been worked and reworked over the years, and most recently I think I have found its “sweet spot.” With this poem completed in my mind, I hope to write more about the mystery of my extended family on my mom’s side of the family and my dad’s side of the family. I have many photos but not enough stories, and this causes many questions and thoughts on family and identity.
Featured image is courtesy of Annie Spratt via Unsplash. We are grateful for her generosity.
Leslie Anne Bustard takes great joy in loving people and places, whether at church, around her kitchen table, in a classroom, or traveling around. She delights in words, and marvels at the beauty found in the details of ordinary life. Reading, writing, teaching literature, baking, producing high school theater, and museum-ing are some of Leslie’s favorite things. Leslie is the host of The Square Halo, a podcast for Square Halo Books and is developing a book titled Wild Things and Castles in the Sky: A Guide to the Best Children’s Books. She and her husband Ned have been married for 30 years and live in a century-old row house in Lancaster City, where they raised their three daughters.
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Oh, Leslie, this is evocative…and lovely. The legacy of family, even if we’ve never met them, can be so significant.
Tender, beautiful, yearning – and Evocative also came to my mind as I was reading it! Thank you for sharing, and best wishes on your continued research and writing.
Leslie, Your words stirred up feelings in my heart about the Grandpa that I never knew but only saw pictures of too. The poem is a “sweet spot” as you say, just raw and lovely. Thank you for sharing your heart with us.