Wisconsin in June

My grandfather at his wedding
stood next to his bride 
and this is chronicled 
in photographs.
My grandfather died on a boat
when his son was four
and this is almost chronicled
in photographs.
In the light  

of a cyclist’s reflectors
I do absolutely nothing. 
In light of a boat accident
my father has a child. 
Things are getting better
and better / worse and 
worse. I wore every dress 

I possibly could this week.
I painted my father’s father. A man 
whom I never met. 
Was it you mom 
who woke me this morning,
and what for? 
Why, when light already comes
in through the tiny basement 
window onto me?
I’m not sure which is more
of a beckoning. 

Woman stands in front of the light. The shape 
of her comes on / to me / as a shadow.
In the name of violence and loss
there will be photographs of this
or there will be none. 
At the brink of violence and loss
There will be memory
or there will be none.