The Missing Photograph
At the far side of her apartment,
behind her rugged couch,
lay the photograph forgotten
until this past March.
She noticed the silver sliver
of the photo's right side
and reached over, back stretched forward
to grasp it with much might.
Her
f
i
n
g
e
r
s
dangled outwards.
Her now blue strands fell towards the eggshell wall.
The hands elongated, the tips barely there.
A memory not within reach.
Nevertheless, the photo obtained,
she caught a quick glimpse, double take,
There they were. Two people, one with orange hair,
the other facing her with an embrace.
Blank faces, literal blank faces.
No eyes, mouth, nose, nothing.
"Look."
"Oh," he laughs delightfully.
She twirls gracefully and flops on him.
"A tangerine."
"Joellie."
"Yeah, Tangerine?"
"Am I ugly?"
"Nuh uh."
...
"You're pretty; you're pretty; you're pretty..."
One tear from no memory she could recall.