One Poem at a time



An uninteresting book until

I  turn a page and see

a faded old photograph

gently, blowing dust away

I look.............


faces, without expression,

eyes nearly closed

squint at the camera

or at me? somehow,

I am an intruder


wonder who they are

and what they are thinking

plain dress indicates they are

poor......... perhaps this isn't

their best, yet it probably is


lifeless, dull eyes reflect

small promise of a better life

happiness an impossibility

silently sealed into denied dreams


sadly, I gaze at the fragile photograph

briefly I've stolen long ago lives

quietly and quickly I slide it into the book

returning it to the past

where it belongs...........


iris yvonne miller