Dusty
Portraits
(“And He said to them, “It is written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer’; but you are making it a robbers’ den.’” Matthew 21:13)
Take
it down off the shelf, the dust has dulled the first surprise
of twirling light that danced off the portrait. Do you remember the day?
No, I do not mean to say the day you first viewed the captured image
all framed and retouched, your hair and his perfectly swept with baby
boys balanced on your laps, saliva gluing their hair to their foreheads.
of twirling light that danced off the portrait. Do you remember the day?
No, I do not mean to say the day you first viewed the captured image
all framed and retouched, your hair and his perfectly swept with baby
boys balanced on your laps, saliva gluing their hair to their foreheads.
No, I
do not mean that moment. Do you remember the day the photo
was taken? Dressed up like you were going to church, or out to the restaurant
you could only afford a time or two per year. You wore the dress he
always told you matched your perfect eyes like the sky. He put on
the shirt and vest, dressed up, but still autographed with his personal style.
You chose the boy’s clothes, nearly identical. Do you remember
was taken? Dressed up like you were going to church, or out to the restaurant
you could only afford a time or two per year. You wore the dress he
always told you matched your perfect eyes like the sky. He put on
the shirt and vest, dressed up, but still autographed with his personal style.
You chose the boy’s clothes, nearly identical. Do you remember
The photographer’s
name?
Do you
still hear the patience as he focused lights and reflectors,
tilted chins up or down, tickled the boys to erase any frowns,
and then tried to capture the moment between tears and laughter
that left all of you ready to capture a second of a day 25 years ago
tilted chins up or down, tickled the boys to erase any frowns,
and then tried to capture the moment between tears and laughter
that left all of you ready to capture a second of a day 25 years ago
That you
probably do not remember.
And,
my Father, will You look at me like You looked at me then?
She still is my first true love, me her finest work of art. And we
added a last one, the smiling and serious princess of the clan.
She is miniature in blue in the next year’s portrait with boys nearly men now,
the shutter caught us all making faces at her tiny mouth.
She still is my first true love, me her finest work of art. And we
added a last one, the smiling and serious princess of the clan.
She is miniature in blue in the next year’s portrait with boys nearly men now,
the shutter caught us all making faces at her tiny mouth.
And,
my Father, will You hear our shyness then that
sometimes resembles regret just now? We thought we
knew every instruction and every how; we showed off
our certainty to every individual and every crowd (though
clouds darkened my private dreams). So, my Father, will
You please Be and please be the Why; I leave my Try and Because
behind, crossing the line into the First Love and Breath of
faith like
sometimes resembles regret just now? We thought we
knew every instruction and every how; we showed off
our certainty to every individual and every crowd (though
clouds darkened my private dreams). So, my Father, will
You please Be and please be the Why; I leave my Try and Because
behind, crossing the line into the First Love and Breath of
faith like
The first
portrait we took on a day we probably
do not remember.
do not remember.
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