My mother brought down the storage
box from the attic. I swore it was bigger.
I went through every single picture,
pulling aside all the ones I wanted
to bring back to Tallahassee with me.
I didn't think it could mean anything, but
I have no proof to show of my vacant father.
No picture of my clumsy, pre-teen years
where I weighed more than my mother.
When I pick out the pictures I want on my wall,
it's the past that I created for myself.