Esther K Bowen

The stories that we tell ourselves
Are mixed as they can be
With fair features of the Dutch
Who came across the sea

The surname traces back to Wales
A hardy warrior race
A thousand English castles
Could not keep them in their place

And when embattled English stood
Against the Zulu tribe
It was the song of Wales they sang
With the Dutch Boer as their guide

I’m told we have some Belgum
Far back from mother’s side
Not royal as we first supposed
But a rebel man who died

Dark thick curls from Italy
From beaches by the sea
Mediterranean tans and hair
Streaming wild and free

Or perhaps it is the Cherokee
That runs unfettered through our blood
Open skies and thunderstorms
Watching the mother doe in the wood

When we speak of governance
Rebel blood comes from my kin
I’ve seen the tattered money
For, “The South will rise again.”

Yet we’re from Indiana stock
Who heeded abolition’s call
We founded churches, worked the farms
And served God over all

The stories from across the years
Resound within my bones
A symphony of heritage
With American overtones

In years to come, though DNA
May prove a different part
I like the family-stories better
The language of my heart