Tell me, if I were still your grandchild

(even many times great)

And you had not boarded that plane, train, boat

Not begun that walk, car ride, horse ride, wagon ride

with one way permanence 

Would I still have the same affection

For orange-brown needle covered paths

For woodsmoke 

For stories?

Would I still see the face of an old friend in a leaf of mint

Taste the milk of my mother (’s mother’s mother’s mother) on the petal of a rose

And see faeries dancing among tiny belled flowers?

Would I think the coming winters with fear

Instead of warm anticipation?

Would our last name be the same? 

Would it mean something about where we come from

 in a language that I know

instead of one that I don’t?

What would be the stories that I have been told/read/sung?

The mountains that I have seen?

Would my sense of place be so consuming?

My curiosity about you, dear ancestor 

and all your great-great-greats 

be so preoccupying? 

Tell me a history please

the what-if of an alternate universe 

To help me understand this one 

Really, I want to know 

How the necessity of going

Measures up to the feeling of staying