Lineage | Gail Hosking
I come from the land of Spam with steak on paydays. I come from men in uniform and army bases with barbed wire and no trespassing signs. I come from a place where everyone salutes the flag at 5 each evening, whether you are a child on a bicycle, a woman hanging out laundry, or a soldier ready to leave for war. I come from a place where men disappear, and children learn not to ask where they go. I come from Thanksgiving meals served in the Mess Hall, summer camp outfitted with military bunks and olive drab blankets, picnics at the rifle range.
I come from an island in the middle of civilians, a place easy to sweep under the rug as though it doesn’t exist. I come from women who wait, who sew on stripes with tiny stitches, then rip them out with every promotion or demotion. I come from twelve schools in twelve years. I come from the challenge of that question: where are you from?
I come from a mother standing by for mail, for deployment possibilities, for babies to fall asleep. I come from women sitting on front stoops of army-issued apartments, toys scattered on worn lawns. I come from women who try to prevail against the bugle call but fail, no matter how beautiful they are. I come from the world of men who eventually die in war.
More about the author:
Author of the memoir Snake’s Daughter: The Roads in and out of War (University of Iowa Press), a collection of poetry Retrieval, and just out Adieu, a chapbook of poems (both from Main Street Rag Press). MFA from Bennington Writing Seminars. Taught at Rochester Institute of Technology for 15 years. Author of 60 published essays and 30 poems. Several have been anthologized. Two essays were “most notable” in Best American Essays, and several Pushcart nominations. At work now on memoir about mother’s life as a military dependent.