Adjusting the Depth of Field

after a version of Dorothea Lange’s Migrant Mother,
Nipomo, California, March 1936

xxx
The smaller the window
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxthe more you will see
clearly—
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxand the more you see clearly—
such focus—
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx the more the world seems flat.

Decide what you would rather leave
nebulous, what you should hide
in the fog of its own shape:

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx the bleary
suitcase set with the suggestion of
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx an empty plate

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxbefore the infant—less vague—

fading into his mother—
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx the crisp lines of her face—

the distinct pole holding up the lean-to,

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxthe land beyond—
an impression of dust and trees.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxWe see
no ruined field—
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx the tiny peas lost to frost—
no hint of work.