Wednesday, April 6, 2016

"The Photograph"



The Photograph

There's a photo, black and white,
rests upon Mother's bureau;
a girl with blond, straight bangs,
fair of skin.   Used to think she was me.

But how could that be
as she was older
and I didn't recognize
the plaid, button-down shirt.

Today, blood transfusions would cure,
but she had only months to count.
Colored and drew pictures instead,
hand-drawn, cut-out paper dolls and clothes;

now cherished upon my wall.
Often ponder her wish of becoming nine;
so grown-up sounding, you see.
Yet it wasn't to be.

Eight was all she had
and blue eyes and a smile
within a frame
that still reminds me of me.

by Margaret Bednar, April 6, 2016

This is a work in progress... a draft poem of sure.  I really look nothing like my sisters, or I think, my parents.  The photo of my sister, Susan, always mesmerized me when I was young.  She looked a lot like me - but no one spoke of her. I finally found out who she was when I was maybe... 8.  I really don't know how old I was when I gathered the courage to ask - (there was something I picked up on - that we weren't to really talk about her, I guess) I just remember always being confused by the photo and shocked when they told me she was my sister.  Come to find out, she couldn't wait to come home from the hospital and visit and see the "baby"... me.  

4 comments:

Susie Clevenger said...

Oh, this touches my heart. My mother had a miscarriage between my oldest sister and I. I always wondered if it was a boy. I feel the breath of loss on occasion. Perhaps my being a middle child drew my mother back to that loss. Perhaps it was the reason she would tell people who my sisters were, but never say my name.

humbird said...

Ah, sorry...your sister feels so alive, curious, loving even now when she is not here...in your words. Thank you for sharing..

Louvregirl said...

Very nice. I can see it. I can 'see' the photo. Especially here: "Eight was all she had and blue eyes and a smile " Thank you for this. :-) Karen

Louvregirl said...

I read on! A 'draft' poem. Yes, even when you think you are done if you let it sit (awhile) and revisit you can find room to revise/improve/clarify and reorder!