Michael Burch Poet Sonnet

Keepsakes

Keepsakes
by Michael R. Burch

"... put out my hand and touched the face ..."

I caress them—trapped in yellowing 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 insects’ wings—pinned, held. Here, time delayed,
their features never changed, remaining two ...

And Grief, which lurked unseen beyond the lens
or in shadows where It crept on feral claws
as It scratched 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: youth, young love, first love, dating, courtship, engagement, marriage, honeymoon, album, picture album, memory, memories, mementos, keepsakes, photo, photos, photograph, photographs, time, grief, loss

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