Cover Photo

My mother bought back from France,
Sometime in the 1960’s,
An oversized book, these often termed
Coffee-table books, meant to be
Casually perused while comfortably seated.

She kept the tome prominently displayed, 
Moving the book from living room to family room
On occasion as if to insure that
Friends and family would encounter it.
In French, we could not read it. 

And she and I would spat, mildly, 
About it, for the cover photo of this
Photo book was gruesome, and was meant
To be: entitled ‘La Deportation’, a hollowed
Eyed survivor stared dully out.

When I would come home from school,
I’d turned it face down, the photo 
Too difficult to see while sitting 
With a morning cup of coffee. 
I’d leave the house and upon

Returning be greeted by the grieving
Face front portrait. My mother never 
Chastised me for flipping the  book, and,
When I’d complain how disturbed the image
Left me, she’d simply say: we must remember. 

I miss my parents, who died natural deaths
In the natural course of days, and now
With pained reluctance, I must say I’m relieved
That they are exempt from witnessing again
Images as, more?, gruesome.

This is a book which I cannot 
Flip over to avoid the image and
Alas
Will need to be left face up
To instruct us again
That we must remember.