In album pages, I look
at thirty-year-old photos—
a skinny girl with short black hair
parted to the side
with a pin
securely placed
by her mother.

Her eyes hold
and unknowing.

I place my finger
on a photo
holding the girl’s hand
glad that the camera
saved her eyes
when time
did not spin
and take everything.

These are the eyes of a girl
who is outside
smiling in the wind.

Talk story

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