CROSSINGS
g.a. scheinoha
I have eaten kolaches
in the Czech Village
and pondered
what made
my family flee.
My ancestors came
from the western tribe
left all
that was Czechoslovakia
behind, bearing
little more
than the steamer
truck present.
Likewise,
I am not a slave
to the Slavs,
divided between
two lineage’s,
attention occupied
by things
Bohemia
or Teutonic.
I cannot play
the part very well,
the arrogant immigrant
arriving here
on the shores
of misunderstanding.
Still, every once
in awhile,
I get these
urges
to go
back.
