At some point in time I imagine
my mother’s family must’ve had
horses, or perhaps the ones they saw
were the horses of the locals,
an aide when you are conducting
a pogram, chasing families
from their homes, into a flight to freedom.
Perhaps my family were farmers
or merchants in Lithuania, though
probably not owning a drugstore
as their children did in Charlston
West Virginia, the family name
changed to Wells, Krynicki
not exactly American enough
in the Mountain State, not, then,
a bastion of culture or acceptance.
So probably my mother’s family
never owned horses, at least not
until they needed to get around
in the strange new home they selected.