Delineation

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1971 
October snow brings the hunters 
down from the mountains 
without their kill. Sometimes 
it happens this way. Sumac and oak 
still heavy with russet leaves,
heavier with snow, trunks 
splitting-open, damp wood.
Power lines down 
across the valley. A perfect stage 
for departure. 

Things that were left: 
            four pair of brown polyester pants/suspenders/ 
            garden gloves caked with earth/1946 Pontiac/ 
            rocking chair/old radiators/ 
            house/photographs 
            in sepia-tones: 

He is third from the left, back row 
between Otto and Harry; 

boys from the neighborhood. 
Someone has written 1916—Swede Town 

on the back in blue ink. Maybe it’s spring; 
hard to tell if the snow is almost melted 

or almost enough. The angle of the camera 
has captured his shadow just above his right shoulder. 

This rocking chair 
is the one 
he was sitting in 
when the Feds 
raided the house 
looking for whisky 
that was hidden 
under the floorboards 
under the braid rug 
under that chair,
where he sat rocking 
my infant mother.