The Photograph

He holds that black and white print,
the old faded image still inspires,
just can see the house between the cracks
in the paper from it being folded.

Yet, for him it is paradise
that homestead his brother made
out in California at the end of the wagon train.

Part of him can remember when it came in the mail
all the words mentioned
included things like freedom and owning your own land.

So he let himself believe
there was a chance to start over
where the land wasn’t so infertile
from generations of being farmed
a place where taxes and struggles with politicians
hadn’t made it other than strain to survive.

Soon they will camp for another night,
the man with his fiddle will keep them dreaming
and for one more night they’ll let dark ease the pain.

Been months among the scrub brush and heat,
endless hours of dirt and wind to content,
even those rattlesnakes to watch for
as well as signs of Indians.

Still, that photograph gives him hope
they will eventually reach that end,
it will be a sweet reunion
though the scars and suffering
will been apparent in the eyes.

For him and his family
the future in a place filled with opportunity
will be worth all the pain and hard work
once that first crop comes.