Saturday Poem / Behind the curtain

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Four years old,
I stood with my mother
in the fire hall
on Election Day

She was tall,
I was small,
we stood close
behind the curtain

Alone together,
just the two of us,
and Eisenhower
and the United States

Fifty years later
I stand sequestered
at a machine
alone and perplexed

Not missing
my mother so much
as lonely for a nation
no longer familiar opinion_commentary

Peter Gilmore is an adjunct lecturer in history at Carlow University and lives in Squirrel Hill.


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