Lincoln, Nebraska: photo by John Vachon, 1942 (Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information Collection, Library of Congress)
It must have been in March the rug wore through.
Now the day passes and I stare
At warped pine boards my father's father nailed,
At the twisted grain. Exposed, where emptiness allows,
Are the wormholes of eighty years; four generations' shoes
Stumble and scrape and fall
To the floor my father stained,
The new blood streaming from his head. The drift
Of autumn fires and a century's cigars, that gun's
Magnanimous and brutal smoke, endure.
In March the rug was ragged as the past. Now it is August,
..And the floor is blank, worn smooth.
..And, for my life, imperishable.
Now the day passes and I stare
At warped pine boards my father's father nailed,
At the twisted grain. Exposed, where emptiness allows,
Are the wormholes of eighty years; four generations' shoes
Stumble and scrape and fall
To the floor my father stained,
The new blood streaming from his head. The drift
Of autumn fires and a century's cigars, that gun's
Magnanimous and brutal smoke, endure.
In March the rug was ragged as the past. Now it is August,
..And the floor is blank, worn smooth.
..And, for my life, imperishable.
Seed and feed store, Lincoln, Nebraska: photo by John Vachon, 1942 (Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information Collection, Library of Congress)
Photos by John Vachon (b. St. Paul, Minnesota, 14 May 1914; d. 20 April 1975, New York, New York) from Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information Collection, Library of Congress
Weldon Kees (b. 24 February 1915, Beatrice, Nebraska; d. 18 July 1955[?], San Francisco, California): The Upstairs Room, from Poems 1947-1954, 1954
Weldon Kees (b. 24 February 1915, Beatrice, Nebraska; d. 18 July 1955[?], San Francisco, California): The Upstairs Room, from Poems 1947-1954, 1954
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