There is always that one
Picture that laughs
At you in the corner
And taunts you with
Those piercing eyes
That could only be called your own.
Or so they were
The expression of you
When the picture was taken
In that brief period of time
When you put yourself on hold
For the benefit of owning
A souvenir made only of paper.
Now it owns you
This crumpled piece
Of developed film
Laying in the album
Hanging on the wall,
Laying in the frame
Of your new maghony desk.
Ha-ha it jeers
At you with its recordance
Of past funs and disappointments
That exist only now on
The fiber of paper.
Flimsy, weak, Destroyable paper
That can leave with the flick
Of a transportable flame,
Or be mashed between
The cold blades of scissors.
Ha-ha you wish you were back,
To what history has captured
On the cover of paper.
Its mocking you now,
As you long to return
To those memories past
That you now understand.
But ever-more scared
You hold onto the new camera
From which new pictures will spring.
Yes, more laughing
Frames on your mantel piece
Your wall, your mirror
And you captured everyone,
In those fleeting minutes
That you will learn
To relish, the importance,
Of remembering the memory
Written on the weak, feeble,
Destroyable paper.
Copyright 1998 Wendy Torres