Fly

The swelling-fading buzz of the fly

circling the family room

spoils the peace as it ropes the air,

playing camouflage among

the shadows and brown furniture,

silent when I lift the swatter,

encore when I lower my hand,

to swoop along the hallway gallery

of family history photographs,

touching down and taking off

on the faces of my relatives,

smiling despite the disrespect.

It lingers on the glass pane over

the immigrant Swedes settling Kansas,

melting into the black and whiteness,

giving heft to the grainy image,

the blurry expressions,

suffering stories of perseverance,

lives I cannot begin to imagine,

making possible my having chance

one day to chase this irksome fly,

which should seem so easy to grab;

how maddening the grabbing.

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This is the latest addition to my chapbook-in-progress Somewhere Phantoms, a collection that is exploring the nature of memory and the tenuous connectedness to one’s past. I find the fly makes a wonderful metaphor for trying to lock down and hold on to those elusive parts of our past history.

Photo Credit: Pixabay.com. Creative Commons License. No attribution required.