There would be one photo you’d want to keep
your dress: gorgeous, your hair: glossy
the virgin sparkled and danced in your eyes; a wild
barefooted gypsy
the hopeless romantic you used to be
the one who believed in fait and happiness ever after.
All the time and effort invested in that mad ceremony
seems to have paid off in this photo.
You’d also want to keep it for your child to see in the future
that one moment of pure bliss they never witnessed.
But the rest you throw away; I first thought I should burn them
but I don’t like the smell of burning, fire makes me nervous
and well who needs that drama after you’ve survived THAT drama!
But there was that photo his mother took for keeps sake
and the one he took when there was still hope
what happens to those? Do you ask for them to be returned to you?
Or do they sit in their drawers and old chocolate boxes, every
decade found by a new pair of curious little fingers:
Mum! Who’s this?
Oh! That was his first wife, that woman he once knew.
