what i’ve gathered, what i’ve heard
what i’ve imagined, what i’ve gleaned
a speakeasy in chicago in an old barn near the future airport
two nuns drinking whiskey out of teacups with
the ice clanking the sides of the cup
women in furs, men in tuxedos, servers in cool red jackets
my great-grandmother watching over it all with a hawkeye
from the floors, from the walls
my grandfather a young GI there in uniform
drinking scotch at the bar with the patriarch
my grandmother in her debutante duds
with a dr.’s diamond upon her left hand
and there within the horde andy
who children are now named after
waiting, laughing, shaking hands, pouring beer
creating the myth that would haunt the players’ lives
nostalgia from those roaring nights
the smell of smoke and stale alcohol and steaks
and there a small girl gets the VIP treatment with
a tour of the kitchen, a rack of ribs, and a shirley temple
then and there deciding
she wanted to own a restaurant when she grew up
four generations of alcoholics later
she types
thinking of what her life project should be
she remembers
the raw power of the redbar stool and leather booths
sitting in a café in paris drinking beer and scribbling like her heroes
these fabrications of elaborate liars and those re-writers of history
she knows not where she stands in this familial history
this family tree of drunks, entrepreneurs, gangsters
soldiers, debutantes, society ladies,
perhaps its brightest star or its biggest disappointment
a laugh escapes her lips as she sees the circle coming fully around
