On to Louisiana

SARAH DRAKE, 1836

 

With my husband gone,

I am moving west

to a new state

and a new life.

 

“Hurry now,” I say.

“Lydia, George, John,

we have a long way to go

before dark.

You can move faster

than that.”

 

See how she cries,

so sad to leave Dave.

Lydia knows Dave is not mine,

and a one-legged man

cannot walk to Louisiana.

Even if he rode in the wagon,

Louisiana is no place

for a potter.

There’s no clay there,

no pottery works.

Lydia knows this,

but she doesn’t quite seem

to understand.