From a Box of Old

From a Box of Old

 

From a box of old photos

fell the picture.

I am pressed against

my dad’s back,

cheek firmly between

his shoulder blades,

arms wrapped around.

We sit on a rock

overlooking the Celtic Sea,

wind running through our hair

and I don’t want to ever let go.

We stare through the camera

and I am happy,

a smile as wide as the picture itself

features on my face.

From behind I could not see my dad’s face

but thirty years later

he looks worried,

something is about to happen,

the picture is about to be lost

amongst so many other

painful images.