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There are three snapshots on the mantle.
I call them before, during and after.

The first one is homeroom,
Seventh grade.
You're in the striped shirt,
That's me in the long braid.

The second one is on our honeymoon.
You're smiling at me in the hotel room.

You're wearing a green robe
(The only time)
Drinking gin and tonic
With a twist of lime.

The third one I just took just yesterday
You were picking up the kids and I wanted you to stay.

I lied when I said
"The kids would love to have
A picture of themselves
Hugging their dad."

It wasn't them it was I who wanted that shot
You looked so handsome; your smile I caught.

The same smile you wore
The day they were born.
Then your new love got impatient
And leaned on the horn.

Now I sit here and stare, all alone
At these three snapshots that I own.

I look at them one, two, three.
What was once.
What might have been.
What I wish could be.

Learn more about this author, Tierney O'Hara.
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