Perdu • National Poetry Month

Perdu  

I no longer appear

in photos. No one pictures me

in the moment. Poolside, red

plastic cup in hand, smiling faces,

a dripping child on a grandmother’s

damp lap, squinting into the sun. Bride

and groom in white, surrounded by

well-dressed pastel-flocked crowd

on the dark parquet dance floor. Groaning

picnic table, red and white checkered

tablecloth, tanned patriarch flanked by

children and grandchildren biting into

crispy black hot dogs, crunchy pickles,

sticky pink watermelon. Around

the dining table, goofing in the mashed

potatoes, a selfie with Dad. Adorable,
adoring stealth shots: watching tv, nothing

special, Happy Days reruns, teens in

identical superhero t-shirts, stuck in time.

There are no gaps, no holes,

no negative space unfilled.

I am not redacted.

I am naught.

by Chris Fow Cohen

with permission of the author