look out into the shadows-
behind where the group all stand
that’s where you will find me
hidden, but still there-

look past the oafish smiles,
all posed and forced alike
you’ll spot me in the corner
pictured- birth, death, and life

the kettle whistles steady,
lace cloth laid, the table set
fixed with quiet virtue-
an image of intent

my body holds me steady,
my mouth betrays the band-
each eye scant meets another
though bound by house and hand

and in my head i utter words
silently, yet still-
i pray for all of this to end
it feels it never will

we look upon these pictures
and laugh about our cheek
we don’t truly remember-
it seems just slight of reach

the hedges cut precisely
though thorns grow underneath-
alongside pristine pathways,
now overgrown with weeds

the memories that lay there
just below the clay-
dream and drift their weary heads
and wait to see the day

yet still our feet are planted,
the roses all ripped up
expected, still, by nightfall-
the teas gone from the cup

the petals rot beneath our toes
the lemon tree remains,
and with each whistle of the wind
we stand here, still, unchanged-