The photo overflows, bright smiles and happiness,
Bubbling from the limpid waters of the lake, from the songbird’s silent warbling,
And from the two figures, arm-in-arm, forever fixed in a snapshot of paradise.
One laughing, pointing to something far away.
What had been said that day?
Why did it matter?
Some bon-mot, trifling, inconsequential, but
Enough to make the other smile
Brighter than all the stars hidden in the sky
Behind the ceil blue and white,
Cotton white, not like the skirts fluttering, frozen,
In the half-wild autumn breeze.
The autumn breeze that stole a hat and ruffled the gold and russet trees.
That muffled all the laughter and banished the sun’s bright beams.
The breeze that hurled the frame against a wall, and watched the glass
Splinter, shatter and turn to smithereens.
The self-same breeze that swept up the leaves and let them fall,
Like crimson drops of blood,
Settled on their collarbones,
As if a dagger slit their throats from ear to ear.
And some misguided soul stitched them up again.
Missing a bit here, a bit there, until the stitches snapped –
The wound gaped and oozed and overflowed.
Full of harsh words and bitterness until at last something
Collapsed, dropped dead, faded from the frame.
Faded and remained,
Mulishly clinging to the faded sepia print,
Maliciously twisting a knife.
Twisting a knife forged from bright smiles and happiness,
Into a harder heart that glanced at the picture and cried.
What had been said that day? Why did it matter?
Knowing only that something died.
