Or is it the kind of flower that is called perennial and comes from roots, or rhizomes or bulbs. Nevertheless, the flowers, from a distance all look the same. Their roots tangled with grasses, weeds and
wildflowers until they look like
they belong to each other.
And once there was a broad prairie with only
grass growing and many families were born,
no one knowing the other. With tractors and
plows, chalk and blackboard, medicines and
white uniforms, aprons and dinner on the table
at six, and doors open for business, each family
spread, putting roots deep into this new land.
One generation, then two, then three, then
four generations flowered and grew into more.
With each child ~ she looks like an aunt or an uncle
or some long dead ancestor, the way the hair curls,
or the way they walk or talk or laugh, or the
shape of a nose until ~ each generation looks like
the last but has its own way ~ along with their tangled roots.
“The thing that interests me most about family history is the gap between
the things we think we know about our families and the realities.”
~ Jeremy Hardy, comedian
