Linda
He falls apart. He picks it up and goes
To pieces. Snapshots there had lain inside
The closet darkness decades. In the throes
Of stirred up memories, he learned they misguide.
Blank absence makes us think that we’re like ones
Who don’t believe in spectres. Then they come
In black and white or 1960s sons
With crew cuts. 1950s colors glum
With fake effects from darkrooms overpower.
For him this image quite forgotten grabs
His fingers. They shake. He begins to cower
Remembering her. The reminiscence stabs.
..She went collecting money for the poor
….And ended crushed against an Edsel door.