I’m in my great-grandmother's old photo album
from ninety years ago, and I seem much the same.
Sure, I'm gloss-finished, black and white, and yes, some frayed.
Yet not so bad for my age. Looking much like her,
...
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a beautiful meditation on self and how the self came to be and how the self at any moment might disappear into only memory without the details of existence to hold in the soul yet the words persist tenderly holding out hope that not all is lost a fine poem
Glen...this is one of the best poems I've read here. I love poems where there is trouble of some kind, and this poem has more than its share. The complication picks up speed nicely. There's a piece of your skin in this one.