My stare,
like a statue's -
not a blink,
wink
or twitch -
Deepened in the history.
I lifted generations to my chest,
But the frame jealously clamped itself
Around the black and white haze of years.
Time drifted;
Memory tears;
Wet warmth washed the venerable glass
That mothered the dulling gloss,
Kept it clean from dust of contemplations.
Duty interjected.
I bore a smile,
Telling nod -
Acknowledgment -
Then unknowingly placed the fading vision
Back down on the sideboard
Until another year
or so.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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