The dead smile at me
from their pictures,
grouped as if at a reunion
for afternoon tea and gossip.

Permanent guests, frozen
in time, sit fixed, and silent
as manikins in gilded frames
to eavesdrop on my days.

Pressed by glass,
essences are flattened,
but their glazed eyes follow,
and cry out-"remember me!"

03/03/2002

Posted on 03/03/2002
Copyright © 2026 Jane E Pearce