How often we talk of aging—significant birthdays, life shifts, bodily ailments, reflections on shrinking (or expanding) horizons. I like this poem by Chaun Ballard for the way the speaker laughs at himself and his midlife restraints while also capturing the poignancy of being the one still living. I discovered it while meandering around the poetry selections in the New York Times Magazine, a fine place to encounter new and familiar voices.
“...I’m
my father in that faded polaroid
taken somewhere in California.”
