When we first dropped our belongings

In the clearing in the forest

Mama said we'd die the first winter.

Papa had been a potter back in Wales.

He knew next to nothing about building.

But he chopped some trees

With my brother and me to help.

And fashioned a cabin the best way he could see.

Our sisters and mother still shook their heads

When they saw the tilted walls and dirt floor.

My mother said it would collapse over us.

But I trusted Papa.

America was a land of new beginnings,

He said.

We would fight the wilderness if we must

Better than fighting the taxes

And our cabin will stand

And even if it doesn't, we'll build another

One that will last a winter

They say they're cold here in America

And we'll plant a field around it in spring

A field of wheat

And none to sell for tax money

All for us

And a garden for Mama

I have hope

For this cabin