A Box of Photos

There was a loud crash in the hallway
After pulling out the Parcheesi
And other dusty boxes that
House fragments of faded memories
Falling to the floor
                            The photos
Spill from the carton
To rest on the floor

– – –

We come from the land of hibiscus
And plastic happiness
                            Like so many
Verdant kisses, it whispers a
Foggy dream of the eternal
Whatever you fancy
                            If only
Dreams were guarantees you could
Redeem like coupons
Them one by one like so many
Printed promises
                            Yet we wither
Under a foreign sun
Against a backdrop of broken

– – –

This one particular snags my eye
Resting against the baseboard;
The photo of our trip where we
Promised each other to never
Grow stale in the easy stagnancy
Of home life and monthly bills
We would traipse across the rough globe
For perils unknown
                            As we learned
The language of the world
                            Which deals
Solely in broken dreams and dreams of
The broken
                            Though we didn’t yet
Know the quiet terror awaiting
Us upon our return from paradise                                



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