Family Portrait
A shutter gathers
the light of our smiles
to hold them
in salt silver.
It gathers bright grass
on the edge of a hill.
It gathers dark clouds
on the edge of the sky.
Our faces are fixed
on paper, a contract
of smiles
keeps our silence.
How long are we bound
to these faded smiles?
How long are we bound
to the clouds and the sky?
Previously published in Poetry Quarterly, Summer 2016
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