Family Picture, 1964
Family Picture, 1964
by jim benz
My father,
sunk into a deep
black chair,
has his legs crossed
exposing a white
hairless calf above his sock.
A magazine
lies open in his lap
and his eyes
have the blank stare
of a man displeased
with cameras.
On the arm of his chair
my mother sits
with down-cast eyes
and one hand
clenched into a fist.
These are my parents.
Taking the picture
is my Grandmother.
She can be seen
only in body language
and the hard stare
of my father’s eyes.
Thirty-six years later
I’m sunk into a chair
pulling this photo
from an envelope.
I’ve never seen
these people before.
I love the brevity of this poem.
There’s something unsettling here, and that’s a good thing.
this was a great read for me, before heading home. i could’ve stood a stanza or two more before the last one…. maybe a smoother transition into the “36 years later” part… but even without… it left me a nice black and white mood.