In a Strange Land

by Kevin Brown

 

We didn’t even have a front porch,
so I never sat in a rocker
shelling peas for Sunday dinner,
though I have eaten snap beans

from the garden my parents grew
to lessen the grocery bill,
despite my liking the sodium-laden
store-brand beans better.

And we never sat in a circle
telling stories about Aunt Gladys’s
punching a police officer because
he didn’t speak to her like a lady

or my great-great-grandcestor
who fought for the right
and righteous cause.

We watched stories about lives
we would never live,
families who had a dynasty,
who lived in places like
Falcon Crest and Dallas,

and I wondered how a culture
or community could create someone
who would want to kill

one of their own,
and I wondered why
I didn’t have
one of my own.