1977
Jacob Smith of Somerset
January 1977


“Jacob Smith of Somerset,” Ensign, Jan. 1977, 53

Jacob Smith of Somerset

From dust they came, to dust they went,

And among the flecks of dust I hunt for them.

It’s only from a distance that they look the same—

They have more variety than snowflakes,

Although like six-pointed crystals they wear vital statistics

In perfect order across the papers and the books.

Among all the Jacob Smiths of Somerset

Is one whose wife was Elizabeth,

Whose trade was tanning, whose sons

All went to America, who was born

Around 1599, who died who-knows-when.

But I must know when, and when he married,

Where he was born, where he is buried,

So that when all the dust is winnowed at the end

He can hear his known and unknown names

And rise.

See how the dust rises in the shaft of sunlight

From my afternoon window. The light and the dust

Fall imperceptibly on my hands

And hold them to the book, to the page, to the pen.