Mar 2nd – The last link

March 2nd – The last link
One photograph
was all she had left
of there: the place

She once called home.
Faded colours
bled into the background,

the blue of the sky
a pastel now, blurring
into the house she grew up in.

The past smiled
in muted tones;
four people in front

of an everyday house,
hands held, arms around
shoulders. You’ve got

your mother’s eyes,
they used to say,
and now her mother’s eyes

only shine in a crumpled
photograph, tucked away
at the back of a drawer.

These moments never last.
The camera always lies.
She looks at it, every now

and again, a faded memory,
the last link holding
who she was then

and who she is now together.
She doesn’t look back
in anger, only sadness

and a sense of what was
and will never be again.
Thirty years separate her

from then, and her from
them. Thirty years can feel
like thirty seconds
when she thinks up the words

she dreaded to say then
and the stony ground
they fell upon.

She thought better of her brother,
thought he would be there,
would come through

even when they didn’t, couldn’t
wouldn’t. But he stood still,
unmoving as a statue

while she packed her bags
and left without their blessing
into an unsaved world.
Inspired by a prompt from here.

4 thoughts on “Mar 2nd – The last link

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