Kodachrome


There on the dresser
the family pictures,
sons stacked and set,
mother’s glossy fixtures,

my brothers captured,
in Kodak-rolled histories,
but mine’s found missing,
held there, not one of me:

Roared on the orbital,
gone from the old house,
a portrait held up,
my stiff-lip countenance,

framed in these rough palms,
my face here removed,
the accidental son
is now finally proved.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.