Family Portrait

A shutter gathers

the light of our smiles

           to hold them

in salt silver.

 

It gathers bright grass

on the edge of a hill.

 

It gathers dark clouds

on the edge of the sky.

 

Our faces are fixed

on paper, a contract

              of smiles

keeps our silence.

 

How long are we bound

to these faded smiles?

 

How long are we bound

to the clouds and the sky?

Previously published in Poetry Quarterly, Summer 2016

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