Perspective

Along with a bundle of letters

addressed in faded fountain pen to

a Miss June Tanner

and stamped with purple Benjamin Franklins,

A tarnished brooch, bird-shaped,

missing the eye stone,

And a leatherbound diary,

including news clippings, pressed flowers—

I found a photograph

of a little boy, freckled and

missing a front tooth from his smile,

My name and the date

penned on the back.

Like seeing an old schoolmate

for the first time in years,

it was a little awkward—

He, in Mom’s keepsake box,

wearing a sheepish first-grade grin;

I, fascinated by his familiar

red shirt and black-rimmed glasses

(held together on one side by wire and Magic Mending Tape)—

But I found myself

liking his daguerreotype quietness,

at ease in his stillness

and the way he was content to just grin,

So I didn’t press for details

but wiped off his dust veneer

and retucked him away,

feeling very old

for being

thirteen …