Remembering

Photo by Gabriel Tovar on Unsplash

I have vanishingly few photos of my father.

I used to think that was because it was he

who wielded the Instamatic, as head of our nuclear family

But now I wonder if he feared its power

to pin him down on the page like a butterfly 

preserved

In the framed Polaroid that sits on my desk

he stands in the New Mexico sun

Hands on hips, a dark shadow mimicking

his posture in ghostly fashion

He looks impossibly young, in white t-shirt and khakis

On his wedding day, he wore Navy whites,

jaunty & nervous both beside his bride, my mom

They married in La Jolla at Mary Star of the Sea Church

where — I found much later — a sea of stars on a brilliant blue background

watches over all of us wayward sailors

from behind the altar

Earlier he sits onboard the USS Valley Forge

he wears a kimono acquired in Japan and sports a mustache

looking debonair or trying to

He died when I was not quite 17

done in by cigarettes and a damaged heart

leaving us adrift

but his spirit sometimes visits my dreams

as if to preserve a palpable memory

to show he was here, made a difference

I remember him driving down the highway near Santa Fe 

I’m probably 11 and he’s explaining

that it’s important to eat every bit of the apple

a reminder of his Depression youth

Even the bitter seeds, the slower the better

to savor every molecule.