INstamatic

     
​On those steps,
Above the yard,
We grin at you, shyly.
We’re trying so hard.

Leaning into each other
And into a voice.

Yours, now our, mother,
Builds a bridge on our backs.
In her dark widow colors,
My tan poly slacks

Elena, white leggings and
Black buckled shoes,
The frame corner kicks
And broke daisy grips

So tight in her fist.

Ofelia, the blackbird,
Gleams pride in her smile.
With soft talcum skin
And eyes of a chid.

Simple and solid.
Quiet and stolid.
The face of a mountain
On a warm Roman coin.

You tell us, “hold still”
And scan the viewfinder,
Searching for signs,
A hopeful reminder

That life has a plan.
​
We are bright little markers
Coloring the eye of a man.
​
​5/4/22