What’s left?
Before you read the poem below, you may like to look at this photo as a writing prompt. What story or poem does it stir in you? I posted it at my other blog wordlessly, until it prompted an imagined story told here.
When I look back, I rarely see
the dreamer dreaming a dream
I’m in it, but can’t see myself.
Looking back, there’s a totality we called “us”.
A dream we dreamt together,
a framing of our reflection in motion
in and out, but ever contained
and framed by love.
How then is it I see the mirror
divided between you and me?
Who gets the best reflection?
Who gets what’s left?
Who gets the photos of the house?
The realtor? The auctioneer?
What’s that left on the wall?
Whose memories are whose?
Why’s a photo missing?
Why leave the frame?
One frame is gone,
photo on the floor,
nail still in place,
wall still standing.
marsowords 