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                  Ancestors
 

     I want to be remembered
     like your sweet grandfather—
     simple, kind, hard-working.
     A glass of whiskey on Sunday and
     never a bad word for any soul.
     I want to rest easy

     not like the others
     recalled with abuse
     and cutting words,
     ruined lives left at their feet.

     Perhaps the weary dead can come back
     but read us all too well;
     stay away.
 

     Years from now—if I succeed—
     think of me with kindness, and
     I will press
     lips to forehead,
     gentlest of kisses.
 
 

—ET
 
 

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