To Carolyn
07 May 2004
Gabriel Escobar
To Carolyn

You are there, framed in memory,
a little girl on a big day.
The photo is black and white and elegant,
natural in a way that looks perfect, staged.
Your small hand is raised to a relative
who is old world to your youth
and clearly taken.
Language matters not because
words are obstacles to your message.
The beauty is in the gesture,
and in you.
It wasn’t that long ago, not really.
Tragedy is a telescope.
Remembering what the photo could not grasp is easy.
The dress was gauzy, blown by the breeze, and all pastels.
Your smile drained the bouquet of its colors.
You stood on the sidewalk outside the church,
in the post-nuptial chaos,
a quiet delegate
in the clash of cultures.
Last year, after everything,
the old relative sighed sadly
over the long-distance call.
In the somber chat, the photo came to life.
As it will, again and again.
You lived that sad week in an old man’s memory
and always will in ours,
a fresh flower,
forever framed in time.
May 2004