hit gravel
and I’m back in time
house barns on left and right
village nestles sprawling trees
bumps of Pembina hills in distance
I can hear the Low German already
spoken over cracking seeds
stories of childhoods spent mixing work and crazy adventure
this place is the soul of my father
where he went back to
when all other memories were gone
field work and siblings
I stand among the gravestones old and new
the chiselled rounded curve on the tops
blunt fingers pointing back
to the basics
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