Right now as you stand, night swirling around you, try to stretch beyond
the fatigue of this drive, let that same wind pull it from you. Roadside: beads of tar
flatten beneath your feet–dark tributaries thread throughout cement like the lines
across palms your ancestors read their futures by. As a child you wondered why
there were no smiles and how come color hadn’t been invented yet
in photos–strangers Dad called family lined up next to what looked like a shed–how
did they live there? What shape would their mouths form, if they could see what we
consider home? Just tonight their stark resemblance showed up in your own face, framed
within the grainy hue of the rear-view mirror–more than shadowy etchings prove
their blood proves itself in you. So you carry them into tomorrow
–Ramona McCallum
The Coop: A Poetry Cooperative 
Wonderful, Ramona.
Well, hello Ramona! Oak Grove is thriving, you should visit sometime.
Linda Cohagan