Friday, October 07, 2011

Forty Six Years

by Justine C. Tajonera

We are all wearing white
in the photograph
taken months ago. 
Everyone is there. 
How could all the years fit
in a few frames by the table?

What could contain 
all the days and nights
of holding your hand, 
of hearing your laughter,
warm and loud,
from the kitchen?

I couldn't pack this all away
in a box. 
And yet that box is waiting. 

Maybe it will not hurt 
so much then.

But not now, 
not now, 
when I can still see your 
soft, gray slippers
by the bed. 

Painting by Marc Whitney (as posted on

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