It's tucked on top of the bookshelf,
A black and gold treasure chest
On a barren red island.
I pick it up, and sit on the couch
Amid the mountainous piles of clothing
And open it.
My fingers feel good on the soft, velvet black paper.
I hit a picture.
The covering film is as sticky as the melted caramel you leave in the car
After a birthday party in July.
It is my mother walking past the pool
At my grandma and grandpa's house
On her wedding day.
Her glorious silvery white wedding dress captured
The moment caught as if frozen in ice.
I rustle the pages
And there is my mother's orange cake
(A mistake she will never forget)
And my parents
Cutting each other's piece
A look of love and joy on their faces
Like the one I see every time my Dad comes home.
And there is my old babysitter
And here she is only five.
There are my great-grandparents
Old then just as they are now.
There is the rest of my family,
Before I was born,
All happier than anything.
I put the album back,
Hoping that my wedding
Will be as wonderful as my mother's.
