Family Secret

Family Secret
By Nancy Kuhl

Too many cracks precede
the spectacular breaking. Each

story begins in a different dark-
ness. And light: think how it catches

on any surface (pane or
hinge or keyhole) and

out of night (out of nothing),
all at once: a window,

a door. It’s a metaphor
(and then it isn’t), darkness.

When I dream again
it’s the old kitchen—I

open the oven and sound,
like ropes of heat, drifts

out; a shimmering. Familiar
and confusing. Uncanny,

and then unmistakable: our
voices, recorded. Playback

and loop, now—every aching
word we whispered here.

About this Poem

“I’m fascinated by the ways in which secrets are kept and revealed in families, how sometimes what can’t be acknowledged doesn’t drop out of sight so much as it becomes ambient, atmospheric. Coming to recognize the truth, then, is like a trick the eye plays: suddenly it is possible to see what was always there, unrecognized, and the world becomes newly tangible and remarkably uncertain at once, charged with the ordinary strangeness of a dream.”

—Nancy Kuhl

I think all families have their secrets. I know mine has numerous ones: I’m gay, my niece is transgendered, several members have had affairs on their spouses, and the list goes on, probably more than I know. So, when I read this poem, it seemed appropriate for this time of year. It’s the holiday season when everyone keeps their secrets as bottled up as possible. Sometimes, the secrets come out in whispers, sometimes in dribbles, sometimes with shouts, and sometimes not at all. Secrets can tear a family apart even though most believe keeping the secrets can keep the family together. Some secrets are worth keeping for self-preservation, but mostly, they are just a lie of omission.

There were a lot of pictures I could have used for this post: a family gathered around a holiday table, someone looking out a window with his image reflecting off the windowpane, “any surface (pane or / hinge or keyhole,” a guy sleeping, “ When I dream again,” or a guy opening an oven, “open the oven and sound.” However, I thought that someone looking at their reflection in a mirror was “ a metaphor / (and then it isn’t).” Because when we look in the mirror, we see our ourselves, and hopefully, we see who we know we are, not the secrets that we keep.

About the Poet

Nancy Kuhl is the author of several collections, most recently On Hysteria (Shearsman Books, 2022) and Granite (A Published Event, 2021). She lives in Black Rock, Connecticut.