My great-great uncle, Zach.
left Mexico at a time
when nobody did.
He worked for a soldier,
a farmer, a preacher,
made wooden shoes and bowls,
the way he had south
of the Rio in his youth
He married Black Irish Nancy
then changed both their names
to Franklin. He signed with an x
and told the clerk he was White.
She filed his marriage under
“colored” where I found his middle initial
was his mother’s Mexican name.
i liked this work when i first read it on the boards
the substance of the work paints a bigger picture than one might assume
i say that in conjunction to how many words are used to create the effect of the poem
its what makes you and the work so good your use of words conbined with images
my painting went well today after three bad days
i thought i would celebrate by comeing to read your work
Yeah!!! That yeah is in celebration of a good painting day for you.
Thank you for reading this piece and saying what you thought of it. I wished for a real picture of Joe Pablio but the only real one we had burned up in a fire that destroyed his cabin when my daddy was five. When I found this photo I thought how it looked like my dad when he was young and that it fit the description of my great great grandpa, except they say he had a mustache, which always conjured images of the nacho cheese man for me! I have never told my dad this though. My great grandfather lived to be over ninety years old and told many tales of “Old Mexico” that are still in the family. However, um…most of them couldn’t possibly be true, but that is the richness of marrying Appalachia and Mexico. They both have a history of elaborate storytelling. For this poem, I tried to stick with truth.