4409 Elverta Road

Father tore the house

Away from its place of birth

Just to carry it

With him, weary of changing

The rooms where his Monday’s dawned

This late in his life.

This settling came to him late.

We had moved a lot

Before he found that farm, built

The house, sowed sorghum, safflower

Sometimes in crooked

Rows, steered by my learning hands

I resented life

On that farm, far from my friends.

Throughout adolescence, sweat

Was not something free

To give. It cost me some youth,

On Elverta Road,

But when the Airport was built

It was only a matter

Of time for the house

To be condemned by County

Officials. Dad had

To sell his dream. Twenty years

Later he bought it back. Not

The land, just the house.

I had moved off of the farm

Long ago and now

It would follow. A foolish

Idea, we all told him

The old place was cracked

Already. What if it fell

Onto the highway

On its trip toward the city?

Sacramento was rainy

Some winters, the house

Could get drowned in a sudden

Flood. Dad did not get

His family, farm, and field

Through dimmed determination