More Than the Picture and the Postcards
Nothing do I have of him except some post cards
and the one picture of himself he sent me once he’d gone away.
No piece of clothing do I have to press against my face
and breathe in the wonder of his essence.
Stored in an old worn treasure chest are the picture and the postcards.
Rarely do I take them out; I do not need to
because his beautiful face is imprinted forever in my mind.
I knew him but one week of my young life.
Old Buick Rivieras remind me of
our final night of glorious romance.
Is he still out there somewhere in this world
remembering me as I remember him?
This I cannot know, but I imagine it is so.
The picture and the postcards – tucked away -
are the tangible pieces of evidence that he existed in my life.
But the image of his dark, tender eyes fixated on me,
and the memory of his smooth kisses and sweet caresses
one magical September eve
are my favorite mementos
of the boy from Quebec.
March 13, 2021
For Malabika Ray Choudhury's "I Remember" Poetry Contest
Now for John Hamilton's Your Best Free Verse So Far This Year Poetry Contest
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