Pictures on the wall
Have a way of falling
Crashing, shattering falling apart
The picture now just sticking out like a sore thumb
Always craving to fall—something
Inherent in them, it’s sharp wooden corners
Keeping the glass together—waiting to fall,
Wanting to break
It’s as if the corners of the room
Were calling each of them,
In their return.
Wood, glass and paper
Come together to protect
From the harsh sunlight
That wilts the flower pot
Or the moss that grows in moisture.
But at the end,
It’s something more inherent that kills
What once lay abandoned in an old picture book
Now is gazed with your mortal eye, a reminder
Of days when we had a fireplace
And books to read with
Red sweaters for the season
Socks to keep us warm
And plentiful food for everyone.
Father told him to take the picture
Right before he was leaving
And we stood together, one last time
Waiting for the flash to dull our senses,
And blind our sight,
we saw the picture in the case.