Snapshot

On a perfect day
long ago, in the dream-time
so long
that we do not remember
late in the gold-brown autumn
clad in hats and mittens
we dashed outside to dance
among auburn leaves
tugging at each other’s hair
and scraping fingers on rough pavement
cheeks rosy
we danced until the fall had filled us
and we were whole again

That was before the move, of course
and now that memory is dust
the old house alien with unknown furniture
the garden overgrown
that was before the move
before I traded blustery autumns and snowfalls
for sultry summers and palmetto bugs
and I lie awake in bed at night
reminiscing in silent loneliness
hoping for the oblivion of sleep…

But someone was there
that day in the bullion autumn
someone bid us stand
by the bluff, overlooking the city
smiling, bearing chapped cheeks and nose-tips
someone snapped a picture
so we will not forget

snapshot