My Pictures


through your child eyes
you paint pictures of the world
lush greens for creeping ivy
pale pink for mommy’s cheeks
cornflower blue for early morning skies
coal black for playground asphalt
ruby red for sandbox corners
the colors—
fresh, fascinating
to your
naïve eyes
hopping on one foot
around daddy’s
tree trunk legs
you stick your hand
in the circle of his index finger
and stare unashamedly
at my face
blinking back your
and though I look at you too,
my pictures are stained with
the fading quality
of time


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