by J.R. Banner
Behind your grandfather's credenza
I found a photograph,
Yellow and faded, feeling like it might crumble
To dust in my hands.
In it, a shining set of Plymouth fins
Were parked out in your family's front yard
And, smiling into the sun, your father stood,
Hands on hips, face upturned with pride.
It put all the cars in the neighborhood to shame.
Your grandfather, back on the front porch,
You've never seen that car before,
And it's hard to recognize this beaming teen,
But if you close your eyes, you can imagine
Your father, with the top down,
Speeding past the Shipwreck of the Silver Spray
Lake Shore Drive.
J.R. Barner is a writer, teacher, and musician living in Athens, Georgia. They are the author of the chapbooks Burnt Out Stars and Thirteen Poems and their forthcoming first collection, Little Eulogies. They were educated at the University of Minnesota and the University of Georgia. Their work has appeared in online and print magazines and journals Flow, ONEART, Suburban Witchcraft, and Impspired. New work is available periodically at jrbarner.tumblr.com.