Monday poetry.

All that is there

Flipping through photographs
when all that is here is not here
My thumb on a crease on the corner
this is the way we are forever
this is the way we live.
A woman
steps into the street
looks both ways
finds the little white dog
and calls her back.
She buys groceries
remembers her manners
looks for love
forgets
looks again
gets up when she doesn’t want to
fights off her fragility
wants to be strong.
The bricks
the walls
the harrowing escape.
Open, empty hands
the creases in them that tell the years
Oh, we loved you
We failed you but we loved you
I hope it will be enough.