The Latecomers

To memory’s watch.

full frame shot of abstract background

Time was not the grace we had expected, but groping and atonal. In its presence, we barely knew ourselves. We’d see the photos later like, yes, but where was I? Memory moved to answer, but spoke only the language of missing parts, and we were not reaching for those, exactly. We held our hands just in front of our hips as we walked, fingers cupped as though holding the faces we missed.

Author: Stacey C. Johnson

I keep watch and listen, mostly in dark places.

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: