Daguerreotype of Small Child
Ana Pugatch
Next to the calendar turned to larkspur
of June there was the moon-pitcher and you
I held your bent tin to a sliver of light
1840 to 1860 less than 200 years old you
yourself no more than six with an uncanny
resemblance to my mother eyes shining black
the too-neat braids those polished boots
gave you away as something other maybe
it was your tiny chair I paid the four dollars
my brother warned me what have you done
open invite to a poltergeist so I half-expected
dense atoms of shadow at the foot of my bed
or waking to musty ruffles the imprint of
impossibly pointed boots in last night’s snow
but you’re neatly tucked in the window frame
still dark against the meniscus of morning sun
Ana Pugatch is an MFA candidate studying poetry at George Mason University, where she teaches composition and reads for Phoebe Journal. She taught English in China and Thailand for several years, and she has a master’s degree in “Language and Literacy” from Harvard. Her work has appeared in publications such as The Esthetic Apostle, Thin Air Magazine, and Cagibi, among others.