Tattered Pictures

Torn photos scattered on the floor
pieces of lives lived before.

Did the rodents come in
for bits of paper 
to insulate their nests?

Grandpa’s face looking out from across
the room, his felt hat slightly askew
his eyes somber, mouth sad.

What stories did he have to tell?
There is my mother with hair freshly coiffed,
lips painted dark red and her first born
held securely in her arms, standing

next to an oak tree smiling at the photographer
who must have fallen in love with her
like the camera did so many years ago. 

Little pieces of this and that, the side of a building,
eyes of a cat, years of history now nothing
but pieces of confetti, tossed it in the sky, 

time to move on and say good bye.