when the horizon dips
into darkness unsure about dawn,
I touch the faded photo, your face
still wearing a mere wisp of pink
blurred now into brushed-aside memories.
death is a trickster. it comes and goes
as morning turns to night turns to day
and we call it life until it isn’t.
the old camera watched my childhood
leapfrog. I grew up too soon, learned
about dying before living
and your too-short journey left us lost
looking behind doors, behind trees,
playing hide-and-seek that never ended
even after night fell.
so I tucked away small treasures—
your blue stone earrings, a sliver
of granite scraped from your tombstone—
still, I wait until my heart gets finished
For my mother
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