Jill McKeowen #11 Photo 2

The photograph becomes a counter-memory*

This photo proposes a memory:

my parents stood on the bank

of a creek shaded by scribbly gums,

my young mother pressing kisses

of love to my baby self

as my father looks on, his

left hand cupping my tiny head,

the palm of his other hand open

to balance his rifle upright  

while two fingers hold a smoke;

I have no recollection of course

but later in childhood will trace

the paisley patterns and glass buttons

of that shirt she still wore,

will find (and dare to touch),

in the deepest corner of the wardrobe,

the cold black metal of the gun,

the smooth wood of the stock;

shirt and rifle will confirm

the testament that I

was there by the creek

in her arms, in his sight,

but my presence that day

exists only in this, a paper

capture of light and shadow. 

*Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida