Here is a snapshot of uncles and aunts
under a rusting sky. The spill of
sunlight settling on the grill of a Buick
blurs the face of the uncle with the cane -
he died a year after this picture was taken.
A stillnes in the hydrangea has caught
the eye of the portly uncle who is pulling
his suspenders. His look of dismay
is not for the camera - diseases
have taken over. And the aunt
who wears the fur piece will live
to be ninety. The other uncle
scowls at the witless lens; a lens
that measures the moment to wink at him.
Then the two aunts with their heads down
and their arms crossed in fat knots -
they must be thinking of bygone days;
they look so defenseless together.
It's a nineteen-fifty summer afternoon.
They lean into the picture's center
while the stiff trees behind them
are thick with stalled branches and leaves.