artwork: ralph murre
1942
Snapshot of my Father
by
Donna Hilbert
He
could be my child,
this
boy at seventeen,
centered
in front of a palm tree
in
the parkway
of
his sister’s yard.
This
motherless kid,
in
a borrowed sports coat
and
slacks that fold
too
deeply over his shoes.
His
curly hair is combed back.
His
lips part in an almost grin.
I
know the history of this picture:
how
he came to California
How
he dug ditches, riveted metal,
picked
fruit,
returned
to Oklahoma
before
he turned eighteen. Nothing
to
remark about, given the war.
And
I know the life that followed:
the
guns hidden in chimneys, bruises
under
scarves, how the half-smile
concealed
a boozy rage. Still,
it
moves me:
how
he glistens in this picture,
the
deep crease of his slacks,
his
boyish curls.
~
previously published in Mansions (Event
Horizon Press)
