When It Was Time
I.
It was the Time of Few Photos,
in a day when there were more
of us. Really, only a handful
of copies with our faces exist
from that time. The photo
says it was Easter:
time of reckoning our eggs,
every glittered zigzag glinting
to the age when gods began
to be, my little fingers grip
shells soon to round back
over themselves— or to chip,
already hand-stitched roses
bud on my cardigan: earth
pleats, our faces loose
with dust, hair powdered light,
her eyes giving way to a trail
soon traveled—
II.
Already it’s morning, …
