It’s hard to know exactly when
memories that had meant so much,
shuffled and shifted in their files,
loosing their firm order and rank.

Dog-eared photos fading amber,
growing unrecognizable,
little be little, mockingly,
labels falling off and mixing.

Dusty and folded, coffee-stained,
they’re all still there, in the shoebox,
ill-maintained and so thread-bare worn,
but they are mine, and I want them.

Dry certainty drip-drains away,
siphoning tears of rueful doubt,
fearful, shameful, irrelevant,
I’ll lie and name it apathy.

                                -Still Here