Poetry: Vanada

The Most Beautiful Country

Kelsi Vanada

 
The Original Homesteader         was a man fucked up
by the drowning of his baby daughter in the well he dug

Years later, the Old Hermit who bought the place was superstitious
about drinking the water / the man who owned the neighboring ranch
was a Bootlegger who made his own moonshine
(this fact is irrelevant)         Grandpa once found
A piece of homemade barrel (Do I have a hold of the story?)

Either way the Bootlegger’s Wife
used to cut my Mother’s hair before she moved away, leaving
The House (I’m the ghost who haunts it)
     curling calendar 1960-something hanging on the wall
     And a few bottles refilled with rainwater

Leaking                                        in

six rooms / a mansion by prairie standards
Grandpa let me keep a glass bulb
filled with clear retardant meant to put out fires
which nevertheless did not save the inhabitants “What happened
to them?” “They grew old, and they died” Just like

everyone
else

I am filling in
The         gaps

Laura, I am using your coffee grinder / the one you cranked
To grind the wheat
To make the bread
Which kept you alive during the Long Winter—this is serious)
The one I never possessed
 

Kelsi Dawn Vanada studied creative writing at the University of Denver and is currently exploring the West through poetry. Forthcoming publications include poetry in Matter Journal and The Bridge. Visit her blog at www.kelsivanada.wordpress.com.