That Photo Smudge

 

That photo smudge

Not an ancient 
fingerprint
but the blur of ghostly 
great-grandfather Lewis
on a rope swing, Missouri,
flying out over 
Little Piney River
to drop into 
clear water among 
startled tiny fish.

Too fast for old tech
but captured in black, white, blur.

Now here this photo 
my child Joshua
on a rope swing, California, 
caught midair 
frozen full color
swooping over Rocky Creek.

Twisted fibers extend upward.
We hold tight, swing
    —jump.
Never let go.

…..

First published in Northampton Poetry Review 
Tom Harding editor

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