I don't recall any trips to Canada
though I hear from my parents
stories of boats and bright yellow raincoats.

My Uncle says I loved New York,
that I ate three Coney dogs,
and didn't get sick (hardly).

There is a scrapbook from the Smokies,
with postcards and some Indian artifacts.
I don't really look at it much.

But there is an old photo of my Grandfather,
on a dock near Lake Michigan-
He's been fishing, and seems really happy.

I remember all of that day:
the way the worms felt, slick and cool,
and the smell of the breeze coming off the lake-

I remember it was a hurt your eyes bright kind of day.

I keep that picture out where I can see it,
on the wall of my kitchen,
even though it doesn't mean anything at all.

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