Christian Bancroft

by Christian Bancroft

Albrecht Baker

There’s nothing more pitiful

for the living

than the sight of an abandoned body.

So many of us were abandoned.

Even the light

and the dark had quit our bodies.

What does that kind of neglect

even look like?

Something about finding a man

when the day is finished with him

but before the night

is ready to wrap his body into

the weathers of the earth

brought me to photography.

Both the theater of it and its

veracity raise people to their meridian

or drop them to nadir.

Everything was suppressed

during the war. My photographs resist

all types of

abolition. They are confirmation.

They establish. When the guards interrogated

me about sexuality,

I was confident, and replied,

Ja, ich bin schwul. Everybody knows that!

What were they thinking?

As though they were trying to deceive

me into a confession that I

was already proud

about, dignified and eminent.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 21, Issue 4.

Christian BancroftChristian Bancroft received his PhD from the University of Houston and is the recipient of a Michener Fellowship. A semifinalist for the 2018 Crab Orchard Series in Poetry First Book Award and the 2017 Lena-Miles Wever Todd Prize for Poetry, he is the author of Now Sing: Reflections on Modernism and Queering Translation (under contract, Routledge) and the co-editor of the 2018 Unsung Masters Series volume, Adelaide Crapsey: The Life and Work of an American Master.

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