Friday, March 1, 2013

The Photo


The photo is cold to the touch;
I leave a fingerprint
as if to say
I have been here
Memories caught in motion
thoughts in color
stiff, unmoving
I look at them again,
sliding the chilly paper through my fingers
a sigh in my throat
the edges are wrinkled
from being taken out of the book 
and put back in,
so many times
as I quietly think to myself
this is all I have left
  laughter I will never hear the same again
smiles that melted like snowflakes on my gloves
the feel of tiny hands holding mine
the eyelashes fluttering in sleep
the soft voice singing lullabies
cannot be captured in a photograph
a piece of paper
but
all hope is not lost
 I have captured them with the heart


 I wrote this today, when my heart was heavy. Loss is hard but hope is greater.  


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