Happy are so many memories...
But better still is the instance from which they are born.

I spent my day breathing life into my memories.

I often walk or sit among them.
I give them
the attention they ask for
to maintain their roots.

I administer
the moisture they desire
to retain their colour
their scent.

I know they aren't
what they used to be
but they grow with me
and give me hope
for more
more beauty
more life
and more to live for.

I spent my day with my memories.

Photographs
by Michael R. Burch

Here are the effects of a life
and they might tell us a tale
(if only we had time to listen)
of how each imperiled tear would glisten,
remembered as brightness in her eyes,
and how each dawn’s dramatic skies
could never match such pale azure.

Like dreams of her, these ghosts endure
and they tell us a tale of impatient glory . . .
till a line appears—a trace of worry?—
or the wayward track of a wandering smile
which even now can charm, beguile?

We might find good cause to wonder
as we see her pause (to frown?, to ponder?):
what vexed her in her loveliness . . .
what weight, what crushing heaviness
turned her auburn hair a frazzled gray,
and stole her youth before her day?

We might ask ourselves: did Time devour
the passion with the ravaged flower?
But here and there a smile will bloom
to light the leaden, shadowed gloom
that always seems to linger near . . .

And here we find a single tear:
it shimmers like translucent dew
and tells us Anguish touched her too,
and did not spare her for her hair's
burnt copper, or her eyes' soft hue.

Published in Tucumcari Literary Review (the first poem in its issue). Keywords/Tags: photos, photographs, pictures, album, keepsakes, mementos, ghosts, phantoms, past, memories, recollections, tears, grief, anguish, glory

Album
by Michael R. Burch

I caress them—trapped in brittle cellophane—
and I see how young they were, and how unwise;
and I remember their first flight—an old prop plane,
their blissful arc through alien blue skies ...

And I touch them here through leaves which—tattered, frayed—
are also wings, but wings that never flew:
like Nabokov’s wings—pinned, held. Here, time delayed,
their features never merged, remaining two ...

And Grief, which lurked unseen beyond the lens
or in shadows where It crept on furtive claws
as It scritched Its way into their hearts, depends
on sorrows such as theirs, and works Its jaws ...

and slavers for Its meat—those young, unwise,
who naively dare to dream, yet fail to see
how, lumbering sunward, Hope, ungainly, flies,
clutching to Her ruffled breast what must not be.

Keywords/Tags: album, photos, photographs, pictures, mementos, keepsakes, cellophane, yellowed, leaves, pinned, held, imprisoned, time, delayed

Gleam of sunshine strikes,
Your face I see, narrowing my eyes,
Another beautiful dream?, I ask myself,
That warm fuzzy feeling in your lap as I lay,
I still remember that day.

Filter coffee, scrambled eggs n bread,
Sip by sip I gaze you, see you blushing red,
Your eyes signal me "hurry up, we gotta leave"!
I smile, I promise I won't be the one to delay,
I still remember that day.

Out we set, crossing unparallel roads,
With every milestone something new unfolds,
Passing trees, passing peaks, you suddenly point your finger,
You say "look! the horizon, at last we've reached the bay",
I still remember that day.

The grains of sand, drifting beneath our feet,
Your hands in mine, this azure sea, I feel complete,
We snorkel, we ride, we surf over the tide,
Walking the boardwalk under the sunset, we espy the dolphins play,
I still remember that day.

Further down the street, we stumble upon a nun,
She points the way to her church, to the north, the white one,
In the twilight sky, bells ringing high, you sing hymns,
With reflected candlelight in your serene eyes, I watch you pray,
I still remember that day.

Now we had been out all day, we were ravenous,
Entering a bar, on cloud nine our happiness,
Shots after shots, we crush everyone at the game of darts,
For us champions, next rounds were on the house we didn't pay,
I still remember that day.

Today after 25 years, you're going through our album,
Your sudden grin, the reason I can't fathom,
You walk up to me briskly, show me an old photo of us both,
And before you ask, I read you this poem and at the end, I say,
"Yes my love, I still remember that day".

"Why do you take photos of me all the time?"

Because someday,
You are going to leave me
And the only thing left of you
Is these photos
That will keep memories of you safe