PROGENITOR

In the earliest wave of second-born sons
Great-grandfather left this Norwegian mountain
Odelsgaard, ancestral farm, destined for first-born

Pushed to a nation with land
for all the world’s sons
place blooded by Civil War
desperate Red Men forced back
to make room for immigrants

What thoughts he carried
as he left mor and far, brothers and sweetheart
shook dust from feet to travel the route of Columbus
at the sea’s mercy
thirty-six long days aboard the White Dove

He turned his heel and walked away from this village
where sheep graze fields so steep men bind
themselves with ropes to scythe the hay.
He left this churchyard where his sister slept
beside grandparents, great-grandparents
home for our family since 1348 when Black Death
killed half of Norway

How could he cut the binding ropes
never to return