Lost in Frame
There is a photo of you
that hangs in our kitchen,
pinched behind a magnet and
a picture of the foggy Pyrenees.
With those young flash-glazed eyes
you gaze into the future,
but, at the fringes, you’re
upstaged by a busy scene:
half-blurred brothers and sisters
standing, crouching, listing before
a winding alley. Washing, wind-twisted,
airs outside windows several stories high.
In the grainy background gloom, faint light falls aslant a door.
Beside it, a cat lies curled, ears pricked, listening.
I’m not exactly sure why I’ve come to
thinking of you recently. Boredom, perhaps.
But there’s something about your presence
at the edge of that polaroid that bugs me.
Though I’ve seen the photo many times
and fingered its furrowed edges,
I still feel a nebulous need to look again.
In the failing light of that Spanish street,
among the scattered stars, mounting wind
and swirling mass of memory—
somewhere in all that, you must be.
And I’ll keep looking until I find you.
Posted Oct 13, 2022, 6:02 PM UTC