Family Portrait

Your outline and the weight

Contained within it,

Leave deep creases on the patio sofa.

You must lie here often.

Peeking over the foreboding edge

Where the grass needs a trim,

A daughter of yours remains crouching,

Ignoring the hopeful gaze you lend her.

By her side, the Blue Heeler

Loosens his rigid stance

With each passing glance

of the child’s delicate palm,

finding penance in the retraction

of natural inclination.

Eroded oak trunks,

their bark shred, threadbare,

stand resolute.

Your crimson boots continue

the work of the beaver,

picking at its open wound.

They’re encroaching anyway,

we must finish nature’s work.

Then why lie on satins and silks?

Oh, it’s the logical conclusion

to silkworms and their ilk.

A family portrait, a single moment

to symbolize our whole relation.

Perhaps it’s plausible,

With genuine love and preparation.

Michael Carney