A Day Revisited
ROBERT CORDING
I’m standing in the exact spot / of this photograph, looking at the past— / my middle son, still alive, lying on the rug / at my feet in my oldest son’s house. / On his wide chest, his niece, weeks old, / sleeps, adrift perhaps in the familiarity / of the heart’s steady beat, her memory / of him formed mostly by this photograph.
I’m standing in the exact spot / of this photograph, looking at the past— / my middle son, still alive, lying on the rug / at my feet in my oldest son’s house. / On his wide chest, his niece, weeks old, / sleeps, adrift perhaps in the familiarity / of the heart’s steady beat, her memory / of him formed mostly by this photograph.
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