It’s always slow-going when you decide to pull the heavy book
from mama’s shelf
to find those pictures from when you were young.

You settle down, and feel the saturated CVS paper and

You stare because its funny,
That your dark, wiry hair was once light and short and honey brown

And because that was back when you wore your emotions on your face.

Bewilderment, and sweetness and Unknowing

You were still searching; eyes full of
intrigue and widened from the harsh flash of the camera.

And you stare because your mouth was caked with chocolate ice cream and, over your protruding belly, your
shirt was lovingly adorned with the runaway drips.

You stare because
you feel no tether to the young body that presents itself, oblivious to its surroundings, untouched by
illness and sadness and pride.

Go on, take the book, but after
the numbness passes, even if you cannot explain quite why life had to change,

you must accept this to be yourself
Covered in film and 
obscured in a steady glare
from the sunlight that has run its course through the house