I hold your life in my hands:
small squares of time, caught out of context.
Picture this! they say, tempting me to remember.
And I do.

I remember a chubby baby’s face, caught in heavy sepia tones.
My twin, ‘though of another generation.
Years later, Fujicolor would reveal our only real differences
in auburn hair
and emerald eyes
that I loved too well to envy.

An Ava Gardner look-alike,
who looked at me with a mommy’s eyes:
emerald eyes
that cried when I hurt
and sparked with a humor that never faltered.

I remember a strong-willed woman
holding a family together amid shattering dreams,
emerald eyes that grew jaded,
and a humor that colored your pain.

And I remember loving you --
‘though God knows liking you came hard!
Both of us strong-willed women
with nothing but a shade of hair and hue of eye to separate us.

That, and a lifetime of differing opinions.

And I remember holding your life in my hands
watching the light fade from your emerald eyes

and I’d give what’s left of life
to have more than their memory
and small squares of your life
to hold in my hands.