A lucite carousel of photos, always flipped
To my grandfather laughing on his birthday.
In the smallest corner, the fat white star
Of a toddler's reaching hand. The edge
Of my mother's brown shoe. And, like comets,
The eyes of all, drawn to my grandfather laughing.
On the edge near the table, one wooden elephant,
One half of a set, one yellowed tusk gone.
photograph by Trey Lominack
What was on top of your family's piano?
