The Photograph
I had not met the child you
were
until I saw the photograph
that caught your eyes spread
wide with fear.
You sat on a step, hunched
and cold,
a waif who never hoped to
laugh.
I'd heard the tales your
people told,
crafting a happy long ago
to hide dark things they'd
rather forget.
I asked what happenings
compelled
so sad a photo, hoping you
might show a part of you as
yet
unknown to me. You would not say.
You took the picture from me,
and put
the family photographs away.
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