Posed

by

Think of me as time stares down the barrel of a gun

and our tomorrows lose their focus till we are mothers

to grown up grandchildren and the missing generations

don’t dare to visit our ghosts but urge us to wake up

to the tick tocking of open heart surgery slicing through

layers of blame.  As if we could walk back into the photograph

and pick up our youth lying discarded under a shady tree

and forget the reasons we ever turned on each other,

the trigger happy memories that blew us apart.

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