Daniel Nathan Terry

Mathew Brady

Limitations

“A spirit in my feet said ‘Go’ and I went.” - Brady

Despite my calling, I’m not a messiah. I cannot be

everywhere at once and rarely anywhere twice.

Despite sending men—good men like O’Sullivan

and Williams—into the fields of war to be my eyes,

there are photographs I’ve missed. Even my presence

is no guarantee of success. Circumstance

and nature sometimes conspire—inclement weather,

faulty equipment, low light, artillery smoke,

and my own failing eyesight. But I am not

the only short-sighted leader blinded by the limits

of mortality. I have heard from my man Gardner,

who heard from some other,

that among the un-interred of Bull Run

an orderly on grave duty made a singular

and telling find: while lifting a skull from the field,

he heard a hollow knock then a low rattle from within,

but when he flipped the skull over

to search for an assumed bullet, out rolled

a glass eye.

Still Life (Vanitas)

Unburied Dead of the Wilderness

--Noah Williams  

I can see nothing

as it is without grieving

for what was—forest 

floor tangled with twigs,

branches which trembled

green and desperate for light

now like amputated limbs.

Lead-poisoned, shot-pocked

trunks that pulsed resin

and rain. And these white

congeries of bones were men—

stripped femurs,

shattered knees,

spineless vertebrae,

nests of ribs

that held their hearts,

speechless mandibles,

bowls of skulls emptied

of dreams. I gather

and arrange them

as if there is no distinction

between oak and father,

river birch and husband,

ash and son.

The Final Lincoln Portrait—April 10, 1865

-- negative by Alexander Gardner

It is a portrait of the nation—

the forced smile,

laugh lines furrowed by grief

into deep ravines

of shadow, the dark eyes

weary beneath the weight

of black memories, half-hidden

by the hooded brow.

And notice how the body

slumps forward,

intact but broken deep

beneath the skin.