Stand at the south end of the square and face the courthouse. DANMAR FAMILY PHARMACY casts a shadow over the white-bricked building to its left. A sky blue awning contrasts against the pink curtains from the flat above LOCAL ATTORNEYS AT LAW. A place called SISTERS. A place called CHRISTIES. Names carry weight, indicate kinship. Keep following the road around the square. HOOSIER REALTY, CLARA’S ATTIC: TREASURES OF THE HEART hand painted on a wooden sign. This is a hand painted town, imperfect and quaint, copied from some Americana memory. ERNIE’S PIZZA. SALEM APOTHECARY, the other pharmacist. Before SALEM TITLE is a mural on the wall of HEAVEN SENT GIFTS—a collage of farmers plowing by hand, of Hoosier basketball, of a blue sky over a mill churning water back into itself over and over and over. There is a reverence to old structure here, as in much of small town America, that persists without need of reason. At the center of the square, a plaque introduces the Historic Salem Courthouse. No context of said history, of the raids and death and fire the courthouse may have withstood or witnessed. No carvings into this Midwest obelisk. No stories of triumph to expose the building as meaningful beyond its function as the nucleus of a town square—a reference point, something that has simply been and continues to be. Return to the south end of the square. Note that the road continues, its offshoots veining into farmland, across creeks. To avoid these exits is to drive in circles, around and around the courthouse, past the buildings owned by the owners’ children’s children, a cyclic return to history folding into itself, over and over, no mind to move, to swim against its own whirlpool, to wake.
Salem : Still of a Hometown
Jacob Nantz
For "Salem"
What is the significance of this work to you?
I stumbled over some hidden family history, the details of which helped me answer some difficult questions about myself. A trip to my great grandfather's hometown was the culminating event in a series of self-reflective exercises, and ultimately helped me gain empathy and compassion for a man who, based on my research, had a tendency to squander opportunity by repeating the same mistakes. In order to understand him, I wanted to understand the place from which he came, and this piece reflects my findings.
What is the significance of the form you chose for this work?
As I began to write more about my family history, I viewed each piece as an artifact of my research. I wanted this 'still' to resonate the way a photograph might if you were to analyze it: capturing the images of a town and unpacking what they might reveal about its people.
What was your process for creating this work?
Like any small town that serves as a county seat, Salem, Indiana revolves around its town square. I recognized this instantly, and sat on a bench near the courthouse taking notes of the different stores and shops. I also spoke with a few people: some distant family I had never met and members of the town's historical society. I wrote this as if to direct the reader through my observations.
For "Weight We Carry"
What is the significance of this work to you?
I learned my great grandfather had several children with his second wife, half brothers and sisters my family never knew about. These new great-uncles and aunts were integral in my discovery process, and I was floored by their generosity and kindness when I reached out with questions about their father. This piece is documentation of my first ever conversation with a great uncle, who wanted to know just as much about me as I wanted to know about him.
What is the significance of the form you chose for this work?
I had this conversation on a train, and wanted the piece to embody literal and figurative movement. I also replaced my questions with personal reflection, allowing my great uncle to speak on his family's behalf. My hope was for the poem read like dialogue, though it's more me listening and sorting through the information's meaning.
What was your process for creating this work?
I wrote the first draft almost immediately after hanging up the phone, using the notes I took on the call as a jumping point. Writing his answers allowed me to slowly discover why the call felt so important to me, and my surroundings seemed to contribute to what I wanted to say (the farmland outside, the near-empty car). Eventually, I was able to clearly articulate my side of the conversation and marry it with my great uncle's answers, which are almost direct quotes.
For "Aurora"
What is the significance of this work to you?
I have such an affinity for my hometown, which is also my parents' hometown, as both sets of my grandparents landed in Aurora after growing up in Chicago. There's a grit to Aurora, and like most midwestern places, a feeling of community. I wanted to give the reader a snapshot of this place I love. It is as much an ode as it is a 'still.'
What is the significance of the form you chose for this work?
Similar to "Salem," this piece was to represent a captured image of a place. It is a detailed answer to the question "where am I from?"
What was your process for creating this work?
Leaving a place will highlight the things you miss about it. I sat in my apartment on the east coast and outlined as many characteristics of my hometown as I could. The piece quickly fell into place on its own.
Jacob Nantz is a poet and essayist based in Northern Virginia. Originally from the Chicago area, he received his MA in Poetry from Southern Illinois University Edwardsville. His work has appeared in Gigantic Sequins, Sinking City, Five South, Emerge Literary Journal, The Evansville Review, and elsewhere.