saying goodbye
to his sweetheart.
Only this time,
she knows he will return.
I try to imagine
what it is like.
This land
my father loves.
The land
of my ancestors.
The land
I have never seen.
Giorgos (Gio)
Saint-Malo, France
1918
I post a letter
to my sister and mother.
Heading to America.
The line at the ticket office
winds
out of the door.
Families yearning
for a new life.
I purchase two
transatlantic tickets
with all of my savings.
I hold them
in my shaking hands.
Jeanne
Saint-Malo, France
1918
We gather in the courtyard
My aunt and Vera
stand beside me.
I close my eyes
and imagine
Maman and Papa
holding me.
Solid as an oak tree.
The monsignor
binds our hands
with a white silk scarf
and pronounces us
husband and wife.
Two days before
New Year’s Day,
we travel by train
to Cherbourg.
The same harbor
where I said goodbye
to my beloved Papa
so long ago.
I turn
and say goodbye
to the country of my birth.
Gio hands the attendant
two second-class tickets
and we board
the largest ship
I have ever seen.
I try to look brave,
but my stomach lurches
with the waves.
We walk up
the lavish, grand staircase
of the RMS Olympic.
Porters take our bags
to our small room.
It has bunk beds,
a stiff sofa, and a tiny
porcelain sink.
We sit in a dining room
with molded ceilings.
White linen
and crystal glasses.
They serve
roast beef
with horseradish cream
mashed turnips
and cabbage.
After dinner,
we walk the promenade.
The wind is blowing.
I hold Gio’s gaze.
I want to work
when we get to America.
I want to be a nurse,
maybe even a doctor.
Tell me we won’t let life
get in the way.
Never, he says,
and pulls me closer.
I move into
the warmth
of my husband.
His dark eyes
full of expectation.
The convent feels
an ocean
away.
I have something for you
I say, and place
a stack of letters
in his hands.
I wrote to you too.
Mary
Detroit, Michigan
1934
Letter #23
November 11, 1918
I had a dream of a seed, small and round.
What is this? I asked.
A voice said, “All that is made.”
“How can it last?”
The voice answered, “It lasts and ever shall.
Everything has its beginning in love.” 35
Petit Oiseau
Without my father
once again,
our pantry is bare.
I tell my mother,
I will go
to the Ford factory
to find a job.
I expect her to laugh
and say,
They’re not going to hire
a girl!
Instead,
she holds my shoulders
and kisses me
on both cheeks.
Is this what you want?
she asks.
Very much, Mama.
If God wills it,
I am willing to let you try.
I put on
my best Sunday suit,
lace up
my high-heeled
boots.
I drive myself.
I arrive at the Ford factory
and take a moment
to breathe.
I smooth my skirt.
I reach down to
to tighten my laces,
and I see
something glinting
in the dirt.
I dig it
from its lodgings.
It’s a round coin
on a chain.
I wipe the dust
on my leg.
There’s a picture of a girl.
It’s Jeanne d’Arc,
my mother’s namesake.
Jeanne’s hands
are clasped together
at her chest
with the words
Écoutez les voix
Listen to the voices
carved into the metal.
I remember the day
at the movies so long ago.
My sister
sitting beside me.
I hang the coin around my neck,
press it to my body.
It feels like Marguerite
placed this here
just for me.
I spin the radio dial.
Listen for the frequency.
I hear her.
I walk into the hiring office
at the Ford factory
and talk with the woman
behind the desk.
She’s got horned-rimmed glasses
and a mug of steaming coffee
in her hand.
I ask her
if there are any
positions available.
I hand her my resume,
which only has
my foreign name,
my address,
and the high school
where I just graduated.
She looks at it
as if it were garbage.
Puts down
her coffee mug.
Shuffles though
some pages
without even looking
at them.
There is no work
available
for young girls
with no experience.
I take a deep breath in
and say,
I saw in the paper
that Mr. Ford
was looking for an
elevator boy?
A sharp burst of air
escapes her lips.
He’s been through
five people in the last
two months.
You see, he’s very picky,
and that position
h
as never been given
to a woman or a girl.
It even has “boy”
in the job title!
I ask to see her supervisor
He is a tall man
with a thin mustache
and oily hair
combed back
on his balding
scalp.
I tell him that my father
has been injured
at the factory,
and I have come
to replace him.
He looks at me
like I am a visitor
from planet Mars.
Then he points
his long, crooked finger
out the door.
I stomp
out of the office
into the lobby.
I see red.
My father was injured
on their factory floor.
How can these people
sleep at night?
How do they think
we are going to eat?
They don’t give a damn
about their workers!
It’s lunchtime
and there are hundreds
of people milling about.
I can’t see over the heads
of the men wearing suits
and factory uniforms.
My body is jostled
back and forth in the crowd.
I end up getting pushed
into an elevator.
Eighth floor, please
says a man in a gray suit
from behind a newspaper.
We’re the only people
on the elevator,
so I press the number eight
and close the door.
I look around.
The elevator is decorated
with mirrors,
red velvet, and gold.
I’ve never been in a room
this gilded.
It’s shooting
through the sky
like a star
with wings.
The man folds his newspaper
and tucks it under his arm
and takes his hat
from his head.
It’s then
that I realize.
I’m on an elevator
with Henry Ford.
When the elevator reaches the eighth floor
my hands start to shake.
The bell chimes,
and I slide open the gate.
I know I have to say something.
He steps off the elevator,
and just as
I’m closing the door,
I stop
and pull the door
open again.
Mr. Ford?
He looks up
with a surprised expression,
as though he’s never
been addressed
by a woman before.
Yes?
Mr. Ford,
I look at the man
who I admire
and fear.
The man who built
our town out of
metal and smoke.
I take a deep breath
and surprise myself
by saying,
How did you know?
Know what?
How did you know
you were going to change the world?
Mr. Ford raises his eyebrows
and a small smile
blooms
on his lips.
What’s your name, young lady?
Mary, sir.
Do you work here?
Not yet, sir.
He pauses,
and I can hear
the second hand tick
on the golden watch
dangling
from his pocket.
Well, I do need a new elevator boy.
I look him straight
in the eye.
How about an elevator girl?
He looks
into the mirror
and straightens his tie.
He turns back to me.
See you tomorrow at 9 a.m.,
Mary.
I close the door
and press
the lighted circle
with my fingertip.
The golden metal box
slides down the side
of the building
like a burning ball
of light
sinking into the horizon
waiting only
for the opportunity
to rise
once again.
Giorgos (Gio)
Komnina, Central Greece
1934
We heave the weight together
pushing
with all our strength.
The sea
rises up to our thighs.
Jump on!
My nephew,
Costas,
yells as he hefts
coiled ropes
into the hull
of the kaiki.
We jump into
the sturdy boat.
My boat.
Costas
smiles at my sister
as he stands on the deck.
His strong arm
on the tiller.
We fly across
the harbor.
A white Pegasus
with wings
for sails.
I stand in the olive groves
and inhale
the smell of the earth.
I can hear
the church bells
chiming
in the distance.
There is an ocean
between me
and my family.
I kneel down
and take a fistful
of dry soil
in my hand.
I will take it with me.
Across the world
back to my home.
Jeanne
Detroit, Michigan
1934
My daughter
drives away
in a car
by herself.
I hear the boys
outside
playing ball.
The house feels
empty.
I feel the loss
of my children
more and more
each day.
The taller and wiser
they become.
I wonder,
after years
of giving myself
to my family,
What will I do now?
I enter the hospital
and walk
to the receptionist.
The woman looks up
and smiles.
Does she remember me?
From the night
I sat in this lobby?
When I held
and rocked
my feverish girl?
Does she remember?
The moment,
when the doctor
opened the blanket
looked at my daughter
and told me,
She’s gone.
I try to keep my voice calm
my spine straight.
I look her in the eyes
and say,
I am a nurse.
I was trained during the war.
I would like to help.
Mary
Detroit, Michigan
1934
Tomorrow
is the first day of my new job.
I lie in bed
and think about
Billy’s proposal.