Menu

Poetry

Soon, soon enough, all of this,
this lived life, this navy-blue couch,
your confetti-splashed, yellow-striped skirt
spread across it, your lovely legs beneath
the skirt, the joyous aroma of toast in the toaster,
a ball bouncing and the cry of boys, all of it
will assume the stilted look
of my childhood photographs. 1958,
’59. My brother and I on a couch, a small box
unwrapped in his lap, both of us gray,
couch and carpet gray, the day beyond the open window
gray and its curtain pulled outside for the moment
by a puff of wind. Hold up, again, delighted,
to the photographer, mom or dad,
your first watch, hanging from your hand
like a caught fish, its darting eye grown dull
in a blink.


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Access one piece of artwork every month for free! To experience the full archive, log in or subscribe.

Related Poetry

Christ Is Risen

By

Rafael Campo

Merton Listens to the Requiem

By

Ewa Elzbieta Nowakowska

A Minor Fallen Angel

By

Amit Majmudar

Advent, First Frost

By

Anya Silver

Pin It on Pinterest