Great-uncle Wilhelm, Mennonite, patriarch, eater of blood sausage, leeks, headcheese, salt pork, you are led into church by that wisp you plundered for nine children. Your brain has sugared now, your white beard is limp, you talk of acres of corn where there is only snow. Your sister, a witch, old as a stump, says you are punished now for the unspeakable sin that barred you from the table for seven years. They feed you cake to hasten your death. Your land is divided. Curse them but don't die. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CREDO by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JOHN CABANIS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ORANGUTAN REHAB by KAREN SWENSON THE INDIAN BURYING GROUND by PHILIP FRENEAU THE END OF THE DAY by DUNCAN CAMPBELL SCOTT |