The cardboard shows me how it was
when the two girl cousins went
each one holding one of my mother's
and she the big girl-some twelve
years or so.
all three stood still to smile through
at the uncle with the camera.A sweet
my mothers's, that was before I was
and the sea, which appears to have
wished their terribly transient feet.
some twenty-thirty-years later
she'd laugh at the snapshot.'see Betty
and Dolly.'she'd say, 'and look how
dressed up for the beach.'The sea
was her past, mine is her
with the laboured ease of loss.
Now she's beee dead nearly as many
as that girl lived.And of this circu
there is nothing to say at all.
Its silence silences.
Copyright © Vishal Kumar