Photo Album

For your first photo

They dressed you in white,

Pure like the sunlight

Or like the horse of a knight.

With those tiny hands

Trying to grab me

With slow movements and eyes half closed

I took a photo while you posed.

You were such a little monkey,

Climbing every tree

And camping in the tree house.

You invited me there for tea,

We had sweets, plums and biscuits;

Biscuits from the kitchen,

Plums from the garden

And sweets from you sweet heart.

“No cleaning just fun” you said

But every night I would go to pick up the crumbs

While you counted sheep.

You told me every dream,

About seeing the world, each dream a new place.

No nightmares- I wouldn’t allow them.

She was so pretty.

She made you smile

Even more than I did,

More than any other kid.

Playing sky pirates

Up there in a tree.

My heart skipped a beat

Every time that you picked a sword,

I know it was plastic,

But why not just use a stick?

Why did you grow?

I was so happy…

We were so happy…

What happened to my battery?

For when I came to our home,

Broken from work,

A little monkey came like a horse,

Running into my arms for kisses.

But our bitter arguments,

Cruel statements

And stupid doubts

Stole my battle companion.

And here we were:

A smile with no honesty

And a heart with no candy.

For your first photo

After the knot:

They dressed her in white

And you in black.

So she would be the light

For the darkness.

Both together, ready for a new fight,

Ready for a war.

She’s a new world to explore,

You would need some help.

I gave you what I had

And what I’ll never have,

For you never to be sad,

For you not to be poor,

For you to explore,

For your travels.

Look at us,

My dress, soft green and brown,

A kiss on your crown,

Free from any frown.

An empty space,

No photo ever came,

Not one, not two or any.

No photos of the world,

No time

For seeing flags

Or Ridding banners over the seas,

Mountains,

Or anywhere.

Not fair,

In the future

When you’re like me,

You won’t have a battery.

Today,

My last photo,

Taken on this bed,

Where I have slept

And been fed.

Holding the macramé butterfly

Made by your girl

Sat beside me; and you,

My earl,

Holding my hand.

Now, remember dear,

Everything in the past is dead,

And it died for you and for us.

Remember that,

When you visit my grave.