v2
Before Our Big Fight He Was Looking at A Photograph
I
On this one, he carries his firstborn on his right arm. The one who would first leave the congregation. The one who would leave it through the front door. She wears jeans these days, but here, a tiny dress. She holds his neck tightly with both hands, as if to ask him what he meant by love, as she tries her best to smile.
II
On the other arm, his son roosts. The one who would leave next. The one who would leave the congregation through the backdoor. He stands in front of the window these days, staring at Venus kissing Jupiter, but here, he stares at the camera. He pouts. His overgrown hair combed to the left to show his face, and his right hand placed lightly over his father’s shoulder, as if to tell him it is okay to speak when one is about to drown.
III
A bright scarlet tie hangs under his still unblemished face, separating the two children. A premonition of how clothes could break a family. He does his best to stay standing as the photographer raises a finger. He does his best to stay standing as the house he built from living with cattle in the middle of the dessert crumbles.
IV
Beside him, his young and beautiful wife looks under the swaddle. She tries to keep her smile as the lump of joy in her arms begins to search for a nipple. Curling its eyebrows briefly while its eyes are still shut, it almost breaks into a cry. This is the daughter who would stay. The nail that kept the entire roof from falling on that November night. She sways slightly from side to side to rock her back to sleep as she brings her gaze in front.
V
There is a certain hue of brightness in this one. A brightness as if nothing in the world could ever break. A brightness he knew the moment he picked it up, he has forgotten.
On this one, he carries his firstborn on his right arm. She wears a tiny dress. She holds his neck tightly with both hands and tries to smile. On the other arm, his son roosts. Staring directly at the camera, he pouts. His overgrown hair combed to the left to show his face, and his right hand placed lightly over his father’s shoulder. A bright scarlet tie hangs under his still unblemished face, separating the two children. He does his best to stay standing as the photographer raises a finger. Beside him, his young and beautiful wife looks under the swaddle. She maintains a smile as she cradles the lump of joy in her arms. Curling its eyebrows briefly while its eyes are still shut, it almost breaks into a cry. She sways slightly from side to side to rock it back to sleep as she brings her gaze in front.
There is a certain hue of brightness in this one. A brightness as if nothing in the world could ever break. A brightness he knew the moment he picked it up, he has forgotten.