Namesakes

Illustration by Anna McDonald

One of nine

the only one to escape

a wooded, clear river town

from the first road to the last

a sliver fingernail.

Nothing compared to the golden state,

a new kind of mine

full of streets–the stars at your feet

and the silent scythe of smoke and drink.

A silver ringlet was her ticket

and she left a modern career

for the vocation of motherhood

admonished then

break-back now

and then

she raised my father

who raised me

to turn mining towns into empires.

Numbers, words—anything will do

but do with your everything

have your fingers finished bleeding?

never quite enough.

Cecilia Kubos did not dream of attic houses,

pent-up mindless blue jays,

or the infinite good day’s of sandwiched porch swings.

She dreamt of a life beyond that safe plot of land.

So it is my dream too.

We never met,

but I carry the weight of her name.

The weight of a woman who was free

and yet not.