from
Daguerrotypes

VI. BRIDE, NOVEMBER 1958

The bride in her first
wedding photo smiles
possibility: no one

could wear that
many crinolines without
optimism. Sixteen

and wishing against
any harm that could
shoulder her
aside with greasy
intent wearing

a tuxedo or even drunk
on a Saturday
afternoon when
she is waiting without other

thought for a casserole
to bake, she looks
right into the lens, clear,

unafraid and with an
imp of expression for

what comprises a honey-
moon but not
the happy after

it will last only a year

He is another
picture. His was another
story

VII. WEDDING, 1963

The second time's
a charm in a blue
velvet box with
a satin lining
she tells herself

both men have the same
name later when asked
what did you do
with that dress what a
lovely midnight
skirt tea length

how smart
she replies I threw
it out and

kept the beads
instead
a thousand facets

of crystal, like
a palace
for ants

Years it will
last nineteen

Who ever knows
who's sleeping
on the other side
of the bed even
when all the pillows
are covered
with hearts

VII. JAMES, 1915

Mine is the face
without voice except
for the words
he died young I stare
right into the camera with

only a small glimpse of what
is to come, point in a shadow
fast around my eyes but
just as alive as you there

is nothing of a
pity about going before
here I am for all
the world in my Orangemens
garb look at my hat's small

feather it was a celebration worth
remembrance every
year people have no
respect for the old

ways what I had
didn't have a name they didn't

talk about things
in those days

VIII. ROLAND, WORLD WAR II

Four
Allied soldiers
sit on a wall in
France even

in bad
shadows black
and white three
squint into the
sun they

are machine-
gunners for
some it is their
second

theatre Roland's eyes
are covered
by a helmet

He is the smallest
between the sharp
stones his
feet dangle in
their boots you can see
his smile

two days
later the other
three are
dead
Roland waits

in a rainfilled
ditch beneath
the weight of
a fallen
horse

Rosemarie Koch

If you've any comments on this poem, Rosemarie Koch would be pleased to hear from you.