Reunion Poem by Shane Markie

Camera in hand, I call out to them,
one by one, in twos and threes,
working up to the group shots,
the family portrait.

My nephews, scrubbed clean, dressed
in red, hug each other's mirror image
and smile the same smile. Head to head,
their dark hair mingles as the shutter clicks.

Now I sit the baby between them,
my niece who has my eyes, my nose,
a stranger's wide mouth.
The flash going off in her face
makes her love the small black box I hold
so much, she is willing to pose forever, as if I
held the force of the sun, a gorgeous toy, and all
her days balanced in my hands.

Grandmother squeezes in, holds her baby's babies
in her diminishing lap, circles the shoulders of her son,
her daughters, my own shy daughter, and pulls them
into the frame, the fine lines of noses and chins a painter's
signature stroke.

I take picture after picture, the windows going darker
with each bright flash, each face held up to the repitition
of light, but when I look to see how many frames are left,
I find the tiny window in the camera is empty, remember
the film left on my dresser