I hadn’t meant to see. I’d been taking a break from the news.
Ever since my last medical visit, I’d preferred more uplifting distraction,
But when the article slipped to my screen, I couldn’t help but read.
Two Bodies Found in the Rio Grande.
What possible cause?
I weighed the invisibles, the current, the course,
Then blinked against my reflection. There was a photo attached.
The father. The child. The toddler’s arm still draping the neck of the father.
I rubbed my eyes — they’ve been giving me trouble lately — then stood.
Outside — my sun. My lawn. At the farthest edge,
The movement of my brook startled me. I had not seen.
What possible cause?
I weighed the invisibles. The current. The course.
A wall-like shadow falls over the visual field.
This is an emergency situation. A deep layer of vision has pulled back.
Cells have been separated from their own blood.
I weigh the invisibles. The current. The course.
I weigh the father, the vision that drove him.
I weigh the toddler, still tucked in her father’s shirt,
Her braids clasped with bows only hours before.
Torn fibers catch at the shades.
Somehow, I’ve lost sight of the stream.
The strand. The weeds. The unbraiding light.
On June 24, 2019, journalist Julia Le Duc photographed the lifeless bodies of two asylum seekers, a father and his daughter, who drowned trying to cross the Rio Grande. “Detachment” is my response to that photograph and to the tragedy which that photograph captures.
Detachment, by Caprice Garvin, was first published by Glass: A Journal of Poetry.
August 29, 2019, Edited by Michael Carter.
15 thoughts on “Detachment”
I wish we had many more poets with the talent and empathy that Caprice Garvin can muster in a single poem. “Detachment” is an example of her impassioned rigour for observing injustices and calamities. Even when she writes “I couldn’t help but read. / Two Bodies Found in the Rio Grande. / What possible cause? / I weighed the invisibles, the current, the course,” the gatherer of facts wears her heart in her sleeve, in such a powerful way. This poem teaches me to pay attention, guides my outrage and humanity to be more laser-focused. I’m grateful for that.
Thank you, Juan. I am humbled by your words.
Your poems create such a visceral response in me, as if I’m in the poems. I am awed by the power of your words.
Thank you so very much, Joanne!
Oh, Caprice…the dignity you grant to the heartbreak we haven’t seen with our own eyes. Your words are a blessing, an awakening alarm, and a call to action.
I am so grateful you find the words moving, Carrie. Thank you so much.
Thank you for this, Caprice. Sobering. Sad and exquisite. And so necessary.
Thank you so much, Lisa.
this poem makes me so sad. thank you for memorializing this child and her father in such a powerful way. xoxom
Thank you so much for reading, Madalasa.
This is powerful Caprice, this weaving of happening in body-soul-world. I feel like I’ve been given a glimpse of something vital. Wonderful too, to see your website. I enjoy so much your lovely poems and true kindness at BreatheareadWrite : )
Christmas-Solstice-Winter blessings to you,
One of your great poems. One of the ones worth returning to, over and over.
Be well, Juan
Juan Mobili 845-642-4846 – mobile
Thank you so much for reading, Wendy, and for all of your kind words.
very nice, Caprice.
Thank you very much for reading, Kevin.