Family Snaps

Gelatin-silver, shadows fixed,

Tiny frozen snaps of time.

Old photos poorly stacked

In a box at the closet's back,

Buried in a crypt of

Mothballs and old coats.

Three generations reaching back.

Faded memories of picnics and

Birthdays and dinners and trips

And so many poses with so many folks

With the same bewildered

Frozen smile.

I have relatives I never knew

With names I rarely heard

In family tales that only

Grandparents ever understood.

About lost family friends with

Their ancient cars who drove

Just briefly passed the camera's

Impassive lens.

Perhaps, I think, one solitary

Figure may be my great-grandfather.

In a field somewhere, here or there,

Since a plain is a plain,

Hungarian or Midwest.

This one fuzzy photo is

All that's left, like a ghost

On a summer's afternoon.