My forbearers caught in a time lock,
the photographic tidal pool.
Seventy five year old black and whites
next to last week's color prints
give a dress prade of the family troops
in the uniforms of the day.
Marcelled hair, flapper dresses and
funny starched collars are draped
over cars now only seen
at Harrah's car museum.
My father caught in a baby dress and
me in short pants with cotton hose.
Mother in a 20's mini skirt or knickers
is always with a long forgotten gang.
That brace of mules were like family
to those actors
from early in the albums.
Search the face of Grandpa to find
the family ears stuck so prominently
on my head and my grandson's.
Generation after generation of big,
useful ears can be traced through
the inherited family albums.
From grandpa's birth date to my youngest
grandchild's probable life spans
more than two centuries.
Yet, we are so alike that we seem
timeless.
This is a place where time stands still
and I am here often.
The family's homeland,
a photographer's studio
with props that are used over and over.
Stonewall hasn't changed
and is backdrop to
an ever changing cast of family players.
Picnics with ice cream and watermelon
are recorded with the monument at the
lake a timeless reference.
The wild flower meadow on top of the pass
testifies to a continuing praise of nature.
The houses where we have lived show
trees from seedlings to fruit bearers.
This is my place in the world
and here resides my family
and now me.
The only other place I can visit them
is in the cemetery.
And if, by cruel chance, there is no heaven,
then at least we will all be together
between these covers of these albums.