of the photo that sits on the table next to the bed.
Forty forever years ago I recognize myself,
fresh freckled face buried into the cheek of him with a kiss.
It captured us then.
His loft of blonde hair blown off of his face
leaning in, the corner of his lip pulled into a smile
looking to something else that was off scene and
not ever explored in the years spent in each other’s company.
I roam around inside my memories of him trying to find love,
a desperate ache that held me captive for too long.
For the life of me, I don’t know where I put it.
Too big to hide, the elephant was with us every time
we walked clutched handed to the car to return me
as he whispered, miss the flight.
The scene covered my heart with belonging in our good years.
The bad years, I don't recall as well.
After years of quiet and living busy away from him,
his tears confess that he loved how I loved him,
A week later, he died. Not fifty.
In this fall back as I change the clock next to the old frame,
his half smile seems strained. I have to put that picture away.
The hour may have turned back, but I can’t anymore.