Old Photos
I look at your hands
Holding old photos
Helping me sort out the years;
And I feel my anger vanish
At the times you didn't come to say goodnight
Or barely held my hand
As you dashed along the street
Me, a footstep behind.
Now the evening is ours.
I see photos slip away and fall onto your lap
And you
Bring them together in your hands and hold them fast.
|