Paddle

Original Submission for the Music and Metaphor Module:

We fill the photograph’s space, my father and I,
though small pieces of the scene are visible
we are in a canoe
a fishing net,
an oar and choppy gray-blue waves reflect
trees, some with leaves some with bare branches
behind us the sky has no clouds.

I am four years old
my father is drinking a beer
my mother is behind
the camera’s lens where she hides.
Our hair matches exactly, brown
and gold and messy and we
scowl at the camera
at her
at the unwelcome interruption.


My father already knows that he wants a divorce
in this photo
already has plans to rent an apartment
and the divorce counselor does not
ask me who I want to live with
they divide me between them
they learn to share and soon
my mother will have two new children to
focus on and won’t complain when
I move to my father’s.

Look. The print is faded.
He’s been dead one year
and seven months. I paddle the canoe across
the lake until my arms ache, paddle
so hard that my chest burns, paddle
all the way home.


Now with Gary's revision suggestions:

Pieces

We fill the photograph’s space, my father and I,
though small pieces of the scene are visible
we are in a canoe
a fishing net,
an oar and choppy gray-blue waves reflect
trees, some with leaves some with bare branches
behind us the sky has no clouds. (outstanding stanza great use of line breaks)


I am four years old
my father is drinking a beer
my mother is behind
the camera’s lens where she hides.
Our hair matches exactly, brown
and gold and messy and we
scowl at the camera
at her
at the unwelcome interruption.


My father already knows that he wants a divorce
in this photo
already has plans to rent an apartment
and the divorce counselor does not
ask me who I want to live with
they divide me between them
they learn to share [their divided daughter]just a suggestion and soon
my mother will have two new children to (I’m confused your siblings? Who??
focus on and won’t complain when
I move to my father’s.


Look. The print is faded.
He’s (I think you need to tell us this is your father—for clarity) been dead one year
and seven months. I paddle the canoe across
the lake until my arms ache, paddle
so hard that my chest burns, paddle
all the way home.

Outstanding work, Carol. If I’m not mistaken, you had concerns about writing poetry, but I think it’s where your natural voice lives. Review my comments and suggestions throughout for direction.
Gary

Final Submission:

Paddle

We fill the photograph’s space, my father and I,
though small pieces of the scene are visible
we are in a canoe
a fishing net,
an oar and choppy gray-blue waves reflect
trees, some with leaves some with bare branches
behind us the sky has no clouds.


I am four years old
my father is drinking a beer
my mother is behind
the camera’s lens where she hides.
Our hair matches exactly, brown
and gold and messy and we
scowl at the camera
at her
at the unwelcome interruption.


My father already knows that he wants a divorce
in this photo
already has plans to rent an apartment
and the divorce counselor does not
ask me who I want to live with
they divide me between them
they learn to share their divided daughter and soon
my mother will have a new husband to
focus on and won’t complain when
I move to my father’s.


Look. The print is faded.
My father has been dead one year
and seven months. I paddle the canoe across
the lake until my arms ache, paddle
so hard that my chest burns, paddle
all the way home.