All Are Welcome Here
A short reflection on our shift away from community.
Sometimes, I go to visit where I’m from,
Recalling when this was a front-porch town:
The way my neighbors’ voices used to hum
Across the streets, when everyone would come
Out in the evening, as the sun went down.
It’s quiet now. Beneath new power lines,
Clean, polished houses stand, new details clear:
White mailboxes with intricate designs
Hold bills or pleas from charities, and signs
In fenced front yards say “all are welcome here.”
When I was a kid I stayed with relatives in a little village in SW Pa., probably less than 200 families. Outhouse. Bath a galvanized pasture tub in the kitchen, filled and Emptied by hand. People gardener, hunted, worked the mines. When they died they were waked in their homes, with loads of food and drink. The three Norns were old girls, professional mourners who could wail and pray in English, Polish, Slovak, German, Russian and Ukrainian. There was even an old Russian man who, in the middle of a conversation, his Old Believer's cross dangling from his nect, would suddenly break out into curses, then just as suddenly return to normal speech and continue, oblivious to anything unusual. I was warned to stay away from him, since he was possessed. However, be used to make me great pierozhgis, blinis and unusual pastries. He also taught me how to wrestle and tumble. Now I am old and live out my days in a boring subdivision with high taxes and a very high boredom quotient.
I like this poem very much, John. I think it captures how the changes brought by our overly modernized society are not always for the better. There has indeed been a general shift away from community.