I never knew you, only of you
from my mother, who you terrified and
my grandmother who you bore and ignored.

Most called you trash, brash and cold
Full of piss and vinegar.
“She ain’t no count.”
“Rode hard and put away wet.”
Empty and hollow, hard-hearted and cruel.

I found your picture in my mother’s things.
One picture, likely the only one.
In black and white staring into the lens
High cheek boned and leather skinned
Wearing some man’s dark overcoat.

Others saw callousness, I see it too
But I imagine a different story

Hard-heartedness born of fear 
Weariness from a life of scrapping 
And conforming, alone in your anguish
To find a way to    just     stay     alive.
Used and discarded again and again.

From a place where meanness begat meanness
You had no one to show you what 
Love looked like.
How love, once held in your open hands
Could then be offered to others
To sons and daughters, your daughters

Tecumseh Valley’s Caroline
Was a daughter of a miner
And the sun once walked beside her
You are so much that Caroline
Your sun darkened
By all the hate inside you.

I, third generation from your tragic song
See you differently, dear rawboned Caroline.
Mother of my mother’s mother
Without you, and your strength and your will
I would not exist
A living testament to your grit
Passed to your daughter to her daughter
        and then to me.

Fare thee well, Tecumseh Valley

“Tecumseh Valley” – Song by Townes Van Zandt