I felt you trembling in my hand,
carefully and fearfully watching it grow
smaller behind us,
until the daunting castle of steel became
nothing more than a mirage: a delicate
construction of steel and glass studded with
miniature relics…
Your tentative eyes had peeked over at me,
worried of harsh critique.
I was bemused of you, the photo’s subject:
a weary face framed in gray,
lines carved from trampled years long gone,
whose pensive thoughts whirled away,
released as the flash of the camera left the face
exposed in harsh artificial light.
I reached out, transfixed by your
weathered, rough cheeks,
but was alarmed at the smoothness of the
photograph that met my fingertips.
In your eyes I could see the fear,
fear of being
swallowed
by the echoing obsoleteness of
the museum.
How could I let you go?
I ran.
I felt you trembling in my hand
carefully and fearfully watching it grow
smaller behind us,
until the daunting castle of steel became
nothing more than light reflecting off a box
of miniature treasures…
Today, the photograph is softly withered from
being folded
Tucked into a pocket
Unfolded
Looked at
Folded again and tucked away
But I still touch the photo lightly, attempting
not to grasp you too tightly,
for fear of crushing the sweet musings of
years caught within the lines of your face.