They say that souvenirs
are the reminders
of moments that've passed
of times that have gone by
of people who stayed
and the people who left

Maybe, that's why Grandma
in her late 60s, still serves food
on a small steel plate,
before having a morsel, to remind herself
that even in his absence,
Grandpa would forever be present.

Maybe, that's why mom still
flips the album with the curiosity of
a fifteen year old girl, who had
dreams and aspirations which are crushed
The album reminds her of what she was
and what she wanted to be... Maybe, that's why, dad quietly threw
the bunch of his paintings and writings
Into the winter fire, leaving the comforts of a brush for the artifice of a computer
Because his idea of a souvenir
Was burnt up ashes of his passion.

Maybe, that's why, I glance at my journal
Flipping through scribblings that
Don't even make sense to me now, for
the creative in me lost to the rational me
And in those arrays of poetry and stories