on my night stand of my parents.
They look like newlyweds.
The picture is paper and
was printed and copied for me
from a close relative
The frame is a light wood, and broken
I believe I have had the frame since grade school
There is no glass or plastic covering the photo
just mere paper bearing the faces of my parents
The photo is faded
and water spots grace sections
of it's surface
As I was cleaning my room the other day,
I noticed the sound of a slight pitter patter
from soft raindrops falling from the gray sky
and I made eye contact with my mother's fading hazel eyes.
You see, this old photograph is below the window
my window was slightly open
The thoughts went rolling through my head
What would happen to it if it were gone?
If it disintegrated beneath the heavy rain?
And what would happen if my dad didn't remember that photo?
Would the memory have ever existed?
And what would I put in the decayed wood frame
That has held countless photographs,
and is merely holding on for dear life
since the tape holding it together is loosing
What would I do with an older wooden frame?
The thought of filling it with something else
feels like betrayal burning in my chest
How could I ever forget that photograph
and fill the frame with something other then this sacred memory
What is really sad is that
I, Megan, will be 23 next week.
and I still can't seem to fight
or get over the fact that
I need to write about my mom
That I need to not talk about it,
but write about it.
Because writing heals my heart.
So instead of thinking long countless
sad, sobbing stories,
I rushed to my window and slammed it shut.
Then I wished I could spend the day
But I went to work instead.