Snapshot

The picture was taken
from too far away

the two of us sit on the
apartment steps
the manicured shrubs on
either side dominate
we are framed, she and I,
by wrought-iron railings

Still, it is the only picture
of us that I have

she wears sunglasses and
her acorn-hued hair
cascades over her right
shoulder, trickles down
almost to her lap

I sit on her left
my hand behind, not quite
coming around her back

We hadn’t been together
very long; a few weeks
later any snapshot would
have been much different

more focused, more intimate
more of what we became
before we went our
separate ways

All that is left is a yellowing
bent-corners Instamatic
photo, circa 1979

Were it of anyone else,
finding it in a stack of old
pictures I would squint,
wondering just who these
people were, so far away
from the picture taker

Renovating

Vestiges of then
subtly shade the now
today is decorated
with yesterday’s hues
accenting modern life
with retro-chic shades

life-makeovers via
t.v. show gurus who
use family tschotskes
as odd focal points

visual statements
from an old magazine
viewed in current
settings; obligatory

oohing-and-ahhing
at the big reveal
fading into jaundiced
indifference once
the show is over

Harvest

Separating the wheat
of bittersweet remembrance
from the chaff that was us

reaping now what was sown
then in blissfully ignorant soil

Banes of…

You’ll never know
what might have been

you’ll never prove
what could have been

to loudly proclaim
what should have been

is the greatest of curses
self-inflicted by men