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
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