We opened the old trunk,
The time-latched smell of the past.
Oceanic mystery of folded linens.

Old photographs
Of long-lost friends.
I acquaint myself with austerity.

My father’s faded
Wartime papers,
Say even less than he did.

We bring fresh flowers
to an old grave—
her youth blossoms there.

Opening the album
A photo falls to the floor
Along with the four corners of time.

Cleaning out mom’s house,
In the end, only our memories
Remain unboxed.

Reading my father’s
Handwritten letters,
My eyes beget the man.