Family Matters

In the photograph dated a year before
I was born, my mother, dressed for a party,
Sits at the edge of a garden, the turquoise
Skirt of her cotton dress flared out
In a twist of a circle around her. 

No other party-goers appear in the picture.

The trim across the bodice is stark white,
Fresh white the vertical trim along wide shoulder straps
Bold white the plastic frames of her sunglasses
A blush on her cheeks, hair dark, mouth open as if
About to speak.  You can’t photograph words.

Vines crisscross in the distance behind her
Like a giant green net in which she is caught
Unwilling. Unable to smile, unable to resist
Or assert her desire to be out of the field
Where ripe melon mounds mark the landscape.

What photographer holds her here?  Dad?
Oh, what if he had let her go?

Wealth of the World

Racks filled
Green, amber, clear
Bottles of chablis, merlot, retsina
shelves stacked
Golden rounded loaves
White flour puffed into flaky rolls

Counter crammed
Whole Atlantic salmon
Fillets of whitefish
Ruddy swordfish steaks

Bins brimming
Frozen pink shrimp half moons
Breaded chicken patties
Links of fat sausages

The crowning glory
Produce in a riot of color
Lobed peppers thick green as a rain forest
Red as a child might imagine the heart

Yellow like field daffodils
Orange at once pale and intense
Shouting buy me, stir fry me
With sweet green and white garden onion
And coins of yellow and green summer squash

Melons sing green, red, peach
Halved or cubed to spare us trouble
Next to thick diamonds of pineapple
Some cored to show more gold

I’m half-delirious anticipating
Full fantasy of flavor
But by what desserts
What have I, we, you, full, done

When half a world away, other
Stalls, bins, counters, shelves, colors
Why she, he, they, empty, undone?

Originally published in Out of Line