Looking at a photograph of one’s mother

Several weeks ago I discovered a photograph of my mother

sitting in the sun, her face flushed as with achievement or triumph.

The sun was shining. The dogs

were sleeping at her feet where time was also sleeping,

calm and unmoving as in all photographs.

 

I wiped the dust from my mother’s face.

Indeed dust covered everything; it seemed to me the persistent

haze of nostalgia that protects all relics of childhood.

. . . .

from A Summer Garden , Louise Gluck

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