J. Michael Ward

Web Developer, Drummer, and Teller of Bad Jokes

Beholder

I took your portrait in black and white
Your eyes were glowing, their corners crinkled with requited love
As you smiled sweetly into my cold, glass lens

You were fifteen
Then you were thirty
Then we were married
Then you were buried

My dusky, weather-beaten hands
So fragile and blind
Run their fingers across the matte photo finish
Of your face
Together, we fondly remember the time and the place