Tattered from age,
Chocolate or blood?
A single oily imprint of my finger remains,
35 years have gone by;
And I hold it in my hand
once white edges, shiny smooth, square
A day in this life, a regular day now-special
I hold my dog, Hildegaard in one arm
I read from my second grade work book in the other
My long pale blue jeans a yellow shirt, long, long hair
the pictures tells…..it is set in the seventies,
As is as apparent by the chair I sit on……
Without this single photograph,
This day may have been forgotten
Like the others.