Photographic Memory
Framed on the wall, a black and white photograph:
The dog standing in the flood of snow melt
That fills the field to the edge of the wood.
“The best picture I ever took,” my father says.
“I had to cross that patch of snow but didn’t want footprints
“So I walked up by the barn while the dog waited.
“It’s odd, though, that I would have used black and white film.”
Dad is pleased. The pond and the dog and the farm were his.
The picture swirls in his mind, sweet memories of what was
Before he had to sell and move to town.
The only thing I could add, if I’d wanted,
Would be a different story – I took the picture,
I gave the mounted photo as a gift, long ago.
Why weigh truth against Dad’s memories?
Why contradict what the picture documents:
His dog, his pond, his farm – his life.
John Ferguson
Included in:
The 2008 Poets’ Guide to New Hampshire
edited by John-Michael Albert
Poetry Society of New Hampshire
© 2008
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jbf@fergus.com
Revised 3/27/2008