Kodachrome
He gave a boost up to his broken girl
so I could show the world at squirrel height
without the climb. That photograph is curled
papyrus brittle, thirty years of light
dim brown my moonface bruises and the bright
red crinkle of his hair. I can recall
the angry snap of bones, the headfirst fall
through branches, yowling like a kitten. Skinned
then hoisted up triumphant, like a tall
flag waving, waving in a paper wind.