Every August, I bring my Nikon
to Maine to document our family vacation.
to Maine to document our family vacation.
But the summer of my father’s final days,
it sits untouched in its black case by the door
replaced by an oxygen tank, morphine,
long stretches of silence.
Before the drive to Boston for the funeral
I take the camera down to the dock
combine the slowest shutter speed
with the smallest aperture
close my eyes, press my finger down
over and over, spin in circles
hoping the light and shadow
can show me what stays
desperate to capture any remains
of forest, lake, and stone
green and gold fragments
lines bleeding into one another
water indistinguishable from sky
horizon the only certainty now.
Diana Donovan is a writer based in Northern California. Her poetry has recently appeared in Pioneertown, Chestnut Review, Tar River Poetry, and Off the Coast. In 2021, she was nominated for a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net.
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