Mother in the picture looking up,
her eyes bright in black-and-white,
white and frilled girl-dress
curled at the sleeves,
bowl-cut hairdo.
Standing in the dust before the farmhouse,
rehearsing her wonder
startled by bird flight
or surprised by the click of an old camera
who knows.
I know who she becomes and why
though the how will escape me
continues to escape me
even in my terrible need to know.