My Father's Lens

In a shoebox of old family photos sits one of my father at 21, standing like Goliath holding two oars across his chest like a giant X canoe at his feet before the diving accident before the lake rocks sliced his skull before the steel plate planted his anger erasing his beer-laced charm. His recovery confused by what's comfortably familiar having to cut away the bandages of dark. His restoration floating on an axis of rotation in a new dimension of self My father's turbulent reality, fitful form like someone drowning in waves disfigured a broken swell Poem revised May 5, 2021 For Brian Strand: You Choose Poetry Contest August 17, 2021