Only Son (Poetry)

The photograph is on the table
while they talk quite cheerfully
of holidays and all those things
that represent the common ground
between old friends.

He is not mentioned but he looks on
from safe inside his frame —
a boy of twelve or so
his black and whiteness fading
dusted with the diligence of habit
and acceptance — he’s been gone
so many years.

He represents a dozen years of
parenthood condensed
to one small Kodak square
reminding silently
that this couple once upon a time
had had a son who lived here —
was drowned in a local pond
one far too ordinary day —
an accident no one could quite
account for.

The snapshot caught him weeks before —
sun-blond and gazing at the lens
as through some small dark window —
like something drew his eye
towards infinity.