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.