She survived Europe and World War II,
a Catholic spinster who spoke seven languages
and left my broken French a Polish accent
and a black notion of Purgatory, that limbo
all intelligent children should avoid.
Again, I’m horseback with a string of mules
somewhere between the chiseled granite trails
and mountain asphalt, that middle ground
with no names, high on a ridge, not quite
lost on the other side of a distant river,
looking for a trail. I must love it here
to come so often in my dreams.
for Helen Cecilia Terry
December 28, 1897 – December 9, 1985
Visalia Cemetery Photo: Phil & Beth Hutson
drycrikjournal 