Toward the end
you started handing
memories away.
Books, photo albums,
your favorite
ring.

In my back pocket
I carry
the last picture
you gave
me.

A metal framed
snapshot of
your beauty.
A moment
of youth.

Dark red lipstick
and hopeful
eyes, smooth
skin and
nostalgic
suit.

I imagine you
in New York City,
a small town girl
stepping into
a photo
booth.

A time period captured
in a flash. Now,
seventy years
have passed.

Your eyes have seen
more cities, more
faces, more
fantastical beauty
than a Polaroid
can hold.

In a metal frame,
in my back pocket,
I carry your life.
I carry your ghost.