Long buried in the drawer
the photograph looked at me
as a dimly lit chink of a door.
Behind my father my first love stood,
violin in hand, her freshness all aglow
on the stage of teenagehood.
An old song softly made its way,
a haunting of harmonica and piano
calling to mind her standing one summer day
on a balcony, then a balcony with snow.
She married years later, while my father
was swept away by an alien tide
so that during my visits once a year
I heard his drunken laughter masking fear,
great artistic promise not quite meeting
the luminous, long-remembered career.
The photo went back in the drawer.
The bedroom curtain tapped and stirred.
Dandelion seeds were scattered, blown away
as the summer light with the voice of a bird,
a faint afternoon perfume, stood aglow
opening a strange and familiar window
to one moment long before the girl –
when peace and joy were themselves the glow
of what didn’t care to possess, achieve, or know.
Very deeply emotional on several levels. Neatly separated. Well crafted all around.
So touching, great work.