Poetry

Ken Stone: Family Photograph, 1949

Family Photograph: 1949   I’m with my family in Peak Hill Park. I’m five and in my smooth cheeked introspective phase.   I’m with my aunt, born a blue baby. I often studied her for sky traces, but my mother called it rude to stare.   I was convinced my aunt hid blueness with rouge and scented powders. (I began to think all women were blue.)   My sister is brimming with tears. She’d hold her breath and turn blue— then she’d gulp and turn red, so you can appreciate my confusion.   My father has his hands on my…

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