candid photographs from the past
lie unobtrusively in the drawer
of my desk. First drawer
on the right.
Like pieces of my life
A small stack, quiet
In the darkness
A younger me
smiling.
My daughter- now a young lady
Then a small tiger,
with black marker whiskers
and black marker nose,
held in my arms,
and smiling.
How a black marker
can transform
a three year old
into a tiger
is magic.
Like memories lying
quietly in a drawer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem