by Millie Tullis
Marie (one)
was perhaps
your name
this is
all I know
you were French
and after
two weeks
the marriage
was annulled
because you
wanted to dance
he said
you would not
stay home
Christina
there was almost
another
between one
and two
a fifteen year old
girl who wouldn’t
quit crying at
the ceremony
Brigham Young
asked
Do you want to
marry this man?
No!
Take this child
home to her parents.
Anna Katharina (two)
you were Swiss
like him
already shared
a surname
your new husband
even gave
the money
that helped you
a widow with
an eight year old
daughter cross
the Atlantic
the plains
unto Zion
so there was debt
and gratitude
and duty before
ceremony
Katharina Magdalena (three)
they have written
almost nothing
about you
you were eight
when he married
your mother
you were fifteen
when he married you
you lived
all together
after your marriage
in the way
you had
before it
how did
he ask
did you know
what was
coming
was the body
of your step
father news
you died
two years later
over the birth
of your only child
your mother
weaned her baby
gave her breast
to yours
Polina (four)
ten days after
your first baby
was born
you had
a hankering
for the garden’s
green grapes
ate them
and died
the baby
starved
my sister says
I’ve read enough
fairy tales
to know eating
the grapes
is what
killed her
Agnes Florence (five)
only you are
my great great grandmother
you who lived
longest who had
seven children
survive
to write
about you
on the boat
from England
you slept
in steerage
for three weeks
you threw everything
up except
a daughter writes
the grapes
a missionary
placed behind
your lips
and when
the boat almost
sank you told
your daughter
there were
too many
missionaries
onboard
for God
to let it sink
you were working
in the temple
the morning he
brought in wood
you were married
by afternoon
you made
English puddings
when things
were good
when he left
on a mission
you ate only
potatoes
and salt
for three weeks
when one baby
fell in the fire
you rubbed her
hands with potatoes
bandaged each
finger separately
so they
would not
graft
together
you were a nurse
your mother a midwife
I don’t know
who took
the knife
three months later
who cut
the right
pointer off
because
someone said
it was
corrupting
the other
fingers
in
MILLIE TULLIS is an MFA poetry candidate at George Mason University. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Sugar House Review, Rock & Sling, Ninth Letter, Juked, Gingerbread House Literary Magazine, Mud Season Review, and elsewhere. She serves as the Assistant Editor for Best of the Net and Poetry Editor and Social Media Manager for Phoebe.
Photo: Agnes and another woman holding flowers.
Psaltery & Lyre 