Christina A. Sharik


Swansea, Cornwall, the Highlands
Wales, England, and Scotland
these are the places I’m from:
places I have never seen,
places I have never been,
Of the three, not one.

What I wouldn’t give to see
Swansea in the evening rain,
and Cornwall lazing in the sun,
and as for the sweet Highlands,
through the Heather I would run.

I’d like so much to know you,
my people gone before;
what your voices sounded like,
how you lived your daily lives,
even those who went to war.

Between the first date and the last,
the in-between time, the living time,
the dash on the stone,
where did your lives go –
how far did you roam?

Let me have just a moment with soldiers –
born of the mist and the heather
Revolutionary, Wars One and Two,
to share in one brief skirmish
in mud and cold weather –

Someday, we will be but a name on
paper, a small bit of lineage,
a written photograph of us all;
a scrawl ~ on yellowed old paper that’s
damp from Life’s weather;

Yellowed old paper, with names
and straight lines; old treasured paper
soaked from rain storms in Swansea,
damp from sea spray in Cornwall
and a sprinkling of dew on the Heather.

Author’s Note: To all the ones gone before.