PHOTO ALBUM
             


When I was about 2 or 3,
there was a picture taken of me
where I'm standing, feet apart, 
clutching a teddy-bear to my hip.
It's clear that  reality
has not yet slipped me
its calling card,
'cause I'm carefree -
smiling so hard
my eyes are tightly shut.
There's an innocence in my face
you might not find
in photographs taken after I was four,
a trust soon erased,
but in that picture, 
I am still untouched.

At seven,
I'm frozen for eternity -
sitting primly
(Kennedy smiling incongruously
from one of those
velvety throw-things 
on the  couch-back behind me)
and I have my knees shut tight
while my eyes are open wide 
with seemingly 
no hope in sight.

At 7,
I am middle-aged.
There are no tears  upon my face -
just a fearful caution forming,
a withdrawing.
I look at that little girl
and I wonder,
couldn't someone free her from the dragon,
the talons closing in?
Why didn't anyone see?

Now there's no way,
 but memory,
to wing between this life
and hers.
The terrrible thing is,
I can smell that little girl's fear
so clearly.
I can see.....
and from here,
oh god, how I wish
I could rescue me.