Development
My grandfather's ashes
in a box on the ground
under the bed, shares company
with photo albums. Dead people,
my family. All of the firsts,
on vacation, "holidays," my father
my sisters and me. Never met
relatives. Who took these?
Frozen things are easily broken
like ice cube trays. The bindings
are ripped and frayed. Last page:
Just another photo of a girl
with a gun to bore me.
Words
- Kyle Edward Harris
- "That's the price tag, no discounts, no bargains. Losing my first love was like living in a perfect house, with the perfect front porch and matching dormers where the key finally worked to let me in, until without enough warning, it caught fire and was gone, leaving a thin coat of ash that would gray my life for years, making me cry when I saw a perfect front porch or a light shining from an upstairs window."- The One & Only Aunt Nancy
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