We Were Just Going Home
In the photograph it is winter
and they have just left this house,
my mother in her long coat
is first in the foreground
hands in her pockets, years
from any real concerns, you can
see it in the way she is
standing so loose and free.
Helen on the steps, her face
titled towards the sky, towards
something she knows is
out there, you can see it,
in Dorothy who’s almost
hidden from view in shadows
of marriage, children
those days already looming
into her, you can see it,
in Rose her arms folded
against what is coming,
in Etchel, at ease, one hand
in his pocket the other
holding the hand of his niece
leaning on the porch rail
because he is already home,
and we were just
going home the caption
reads, and how did it get so
late going home, this day
gone for almost fifty years
and still it is here in
black and white if you look
hard you can see it.
Robert Kinsley from Field Stones
Field Stones at Google Books
mirabile dictu 