Litkicks Message Board Archive

Memory Montage

Posted to Action Poetry

My then baby brother
in a bowtie and shoes
with tiny laces
and never sitting still
for once my father
in a suit
wearing socks
(he hates socks. I do too)
sitting unnaturally straight
eyes peeled too wide
my mother perfumed softly
beaming at her angel family
sitting in a row
wearing a pink plaid suit
with neat pearl buttons
and then me,
on the end
my then long hair
pulled tight back in a french braid
banana yellow dress
like a 40s-era secretary
with pointed satin collar
and white patent shoes
(I couldn't walk in them, it didn't matter)
we all sat waiting
or hoping
perhaps praying
from time to time
while the minister told a story
to us
and somehow I know
that incarnation of family
will never again exist.