Photo of Raphael

by Jo Gram
                                                                                                           

Greetings to you, Raphael.
I recently received your photo
an apron at your waist
a buttoned shirt and rolled up sleeves.
Looking proud to stand in the sun
at the door of your Fiesta Cafe.

I wonder if you looked this way to my aunt
my real mother, now dead.
I wonder if you had already met
when this was taken.
I wonder, did you know about me then?

I can’t tell if the window with a
mariachi musician and cactus
was painted in bright colors.
This photo is black and white and blurred
like the lies I heard as a girl.
The photo is undated although
the hood ornament on a piece of car
is a clue that doesn’t matter.

A sign on the door says open
but you are dead, unknown to me
My spit in a tube traced extended family
They have reached out
would like to know me
but at this late date
it seems too late to answer real questions.
I know enough to check a survey box
but hesitate to claim anything
I have not lived.
You get that, right?
You can’t check any boxes for me.

Questions go unanswered.
Like, what was the nature of
the interaction that made me?
Like, what did you know?

Still I know who I am.
Your investigated genes
flow through me
flow from me.
In spite of photo flaws
I can’t help but know
the nose, the brows
of my family.
Greetings, Raphael.


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Jo Gram lives in Lansing, Michigan and has an MPA. After many years as a practitioner/scholar, she has left public service as well as the writing and presenting of academic papers. Jo is now pursuing poetry and a more creative life.