Aunt Betty is a bald-headed toddler held close to Moonsie. 
My mother Bobbie is an infant in Moonsie’s arms.

Moonsie stares at the camera unsmiling. As to say
gon’ head let’s be done with this; or maybe she believed

the camera would capture her soul. Moonsie shaved 
all of Betty’s hair off when she was a girl.

Took her into a cornfield at moonlight. 
A man was there. She said, stay here.

The stalks of corn must have played cruel tricks.
She must have closed her eyes but could still see them.

Maybe that man was her daddy. Maybe my mother’s 
daddy was my classmate’s granddaddy, but maybe

he wasn’t. Maybe Moonsie regretted marrying 
the man she had met just two weeks prior

on her parents’ porch. She’d rather hold a grudge 
than drop it. There’s time for forgiveness later.