My great great great great great grandfather was a pioneer in a covered wagon. I am not kidding. I am not sure about the covered wagon or the number. I am not sure about “pioneer.” This is and is not my history when I say: plain. This is and is not my history. I do not dispute it. I am not at the center of the ring, of the covered wagon’s wheel, of the wheel of stretched canvas over the rings: an echoing shell the call of S---- Island on the other side, the ocean, the Atlantic Ocean, where my mother took me to the other side. I do declare the cut when I read his memoirs, my grandmother’s pride, and I wonder where the names have gone. Asa. Ada. Amanda. Asa. Ada. Amanda. Asa. Ada. Amanda was almost my name ‘til my mother used the bathroom and spontaneously I became a bush. Sometimes I am red angry. These are the myths we hold close. I do declare the cut. Sometimes I am not kidding. I am not Amanda. This is and is not my history when I did not or did not not become Amanda and/or I probably was/am in another ring. I am not kidding. This is and is not my history.
I am not named for the mountain I live on although I share their name. We share the name. The mountain shares the name. We share name the mountain. We mountain the name the name we share we the mountain share. We, mountain, the nameshare. That’s not fair, really. We share mountain mountain share. Name the mountain we share the mountain the mountain share we. Share we. Mountain. The mountain is named for people who lived there at a given point in time. I point to the time to count our mountains. I point to the time, to the mountains, count. I point to the point in time. Count. The country is a cluster of names and mountains. I am not kidding: the mountain is named for people who lived there at a given point in time. A family name. This is not my family. This is and is not my history, of the mountain, their names, of the shell, the count, of the ring, the plain of time. A ring of stretched canvas. A ring of stretched canvas over a wheel. Amanda, I call to not sometimes; Amanda is the not sometimes of the bush I am Red. This is and is not my history.
Called as I was to the woods to come running, I came. I came to the woods to play, called as I was, to come. Mountain is not a real word. The names of a Point in Time where we lived in time on the circle (cul de sac). We say ‘circle.’ Cir-cull. We crossed the secret pathways to play in the woods connecting Eli Whitney Street to Fay Mountain, Mountain View. The witch lives out there in that tiny house on the hill; we can cut a path if we stay real quiet and real far back. Share the fair back, far back really cut to Fay Street Adam Street Fay Mountain real cull real quiet and way back we crossed, culled the pathway to play away far from the witch. From the name shared way back crossed back to cull the cut woods. We saw a cur a hundred or so times in the wood, a wolf, a coyote, a dog in the path into the yard away from the witch crossed yards in a mist of play. We saw the dogs coming through the mist. We cut a path we crossed through Fay Mountain in a point in time. We counted dogs, play, witch, path. We cut the woods.
The Historical Society Website timeline is a 25-point bullet list. They are underfunded, I’m sure. Unfounded. This is not an excuse. This is and is not a history: 1633 1704 1717 1724 1776 1794 1810 1824 1834 1839 1848 1861 1867 1880 1897 1908 1926 1932 1947 1953 1969 1975 2005 2008 2017.
I am not named for the mountain I live on although I share their name. We share the name. The mountain shares the name. We share name the mountain. We mountain the name the name we share we the mountain share. We, mountain, the nameshare. That’s not fair, really. We share mountain mountain share. Name the mountain we share the mountain the mountain share we. Share we. Mountain. The mountain is named for people who lived there at a given point in time. I point to the time to count our mountains. I point to the time, to the mountains, count. I point to the point in time. Count. The country is a cluster of names and mountains. I am not kidding: the mountain is named for people who lived there at a given point in time. A family name. This is not my family. This is and is not my history, of the mountain, their names, of the shell, the count, of the ring, the plain of time. A ring of stretched canvas. A ring of stretched canvas over a wheel. Amanda, I call to not sometimes; Amanda is the not sometimes of the bush I am Red. This is and is not my history.
Called as I was to the woods to come running, I came. I came to the woods to play, called as I was, to come. Mountain is not a real word. The names of a Point in Time where we lived in time on the circle (cul de sac). We say ‘circle.’ Cir-cull. We crossed the secret pathways to play in the woods connecting Eli Whitney Street to Fay Mountain, Mountain View. The witch lives out there in that tiny house on the hill; we can cut a path if we stay real quiet and real far back. Share the fair back, far back really cut to Fay Street Adam Street Fay Mountain real cull real quiet and way back we crossed, culled the pathway to play away far from the witch. From the name shared way back crossed back to cull the cut woods. We saw a cur a hundred or so times in the wood, a wolf, a coyote, a dog in the path into the yard away from the witch crossed yards in a mist of play. We saw the dogs coming through the mist. We cut a path we crossed through Fay Mountain in a point in time. We counted dogs, play, witch, path. We cut the woods.
The Historical Society Website timeline is a 25-point bullet list. They are underfunded, I’m sure. Unfounded. This is not an excuse. This is and is not a history: 1633 1704 1717 1724 1776 1794 1810 1824 1834 1839 1848 1861 1867 1880 1897 1908 1926 1932 1947 1953 1969 1975 2005 2008 2017.
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1633 First European, John Oldham, travels on Old Connecticut Path.
1704 Rice boys captured, taken to Canada 1717 Westborough incorporated as 100th colonial town 1794 Native son Eli Whitney patents the cotton gin 1867 Frederick Douglas lectures in Town Hall 1953 Tornado cuts a half-mile path through town, killing five 1969 Route 495 opens through Westborough 2005 Westborough named #36 “best places to live” in the U.S. HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: HISTORY: |
1794 Native son Eli Whitney patents the cotton gin
Eli Whitney patents the cotton gin Eli Whitney patents the cotton gin cotton gin cotton gin cotton gin cotton gin cotton gin cotton gin cotton gin cotton gin cotton gin cotton gin cotton gin Patents? Invents? Eli Whitney, Native son Eli Whitney, Native son Eli Whitney, Native son, Eli Whit |
My great great great great great grandfather was in a covered wagon. Was in a wagon. I am not kidding not sure not so sure about the wagon or number. This is and is not my history when I say history when I say dispute it when I am not the center of the ring. I dispute it. Shell choking on the call of the Atlantic Ocean, where my mother took me to the other side. To die on the other slide. I do declare the cut when I
I wonder sometimes I am the myths we hold close to the cut I declare. I do. I sometimes I sometimes I am not kidding. I am not when I did not or did not not become in another ring. I am not kidding.
I wonder sometimes I am the myths we hold close to the cut I declare. I do. I sometimes I sometimes I am not kidding. I am not when I did not or did not not become in another ring. I am not kidding.
2021
