- A Photograph of Father, and: A Photograph of Mother
A Photograph of Father
Someone snapped himabout to marry my mothermy I say though theyhad yet to imagine me
but always I will see himslouching in the kitchen afterUncle Albert dragged him outall night laughing so much
singing a taste of beerstill in his mouth and nowhow early how sunnythe window a square of white
blanking out Schmidt's farmhis dark hair shinyhis tie not tied no wayhe could know what awaits
which makes me love himeven more makes meworry though it's too soontoo late let me show you how
time stops the camerasays let me show youhow time hurtles on untilthere's only this creased piece [End Page 179]
of cardboard little squareI carry in my pocket howbrave he looks or how scaredif there's a difference.
A Photograph of Mother
There is no matchingpicture of Motheralmost still a girl and soskinny her fair hair
braided too busyclimbing intoher complicated whitedress upstairs
in her own mother'shouse why somany hooks and eyesshe thinks why
can you not sit stillher mother wondersaloud cinchingher in knowing her
daughter willnever get to sit stillwhat Mother hopedfor wished or [End Page 180]
worried overI'll never know I wasalways too young toknow how to ask. [End Page 181]
Matthew Thorburn's latest book is The Grace of Distance, a finalist for the Paterson Poetry Prize. His previous book, Dear Almost, won the Lascaux Prize for Collected Poetry. He has new poems in Conduit, Cortland Poetry Review, Hotel Amerika, and The Best American Poetry 2020.