Christine and her daughter Angel (All of you make my Life More Interesting)

Fascinating,
Things you notice
when your time
reference
changes.
People.
Ones who
you now
notice
that
your
back
on
the
same
pace
again.
She
bought
a
trunk
from
you
years
ago.
You
always
remember
that
she
has
a
look
on her
face
like
she
is
trying
to
connect
to
the
reality
of
the
moment
somewhere
in
her
brain
but
somehow
can't.
I would
hold
yard
sales
on
May
Day.
A
spectacular
parade
is
held
nearby
me
and
throngs
of
characters
show
up.
She
was
the
first
to
wonder
lost
among
the
thrown-out.
And
she
collected
trunks
and
would
like
to
buy
this
one,
"how
much?"
I
don't
remember
what
we
settled
on
but
the
spirit
that
always
shuddered
from
within
that
trunk
somehow
had
found
its
home
and
I
was
happy
to
be
rid
of
it.
It
somehow
had
found
itself
inside
the
trunk
after
it
left
the
cedar
wood
chest
it
previously
resided
in.
It
would
wake
me
up
at
night
if
I
forgot
to
close
the
doors.
So
it
was
another,
"adieu
to
you."
When my
parents
were
bringing
it
to me
in
the
first
place
of
my
own.
My
Dad
sat
it
upright
in
the
back
of
the
truck
and
wind
made
sure
to
pick
it
up
and
shatter
it
to
bits
on
75 South.
Peace
be
with
you.
A story we
would
razz
my
Dad
about
later
many times
but,
thruth-
be-
told,
we
were
happy
to
see
you
go.
And
so
here
you
are
again,
Christine,
and
Angel
is
about
to
graduate.
(a beautiful
caramel child)
and
you
are
still
waiting
at
the
bus
stop
with
her.
Glad
you
still
have
the
trunk.
Be
well.
And
there
they
are.
Always.
A
snapshot.
Somewhere
between
a
polaroid
and
a
movie
still.
Grainy
and
a
slight
out
of
focus
but
brilliant
colors.
Christine
with
a
processed
bob
in
a
crocheted
shawl
the
color
of
white
that
always
looks
dirty
and
snow
boots
with
the
temperature
diving
from
the
80's
to
the
60's
you
were
prepared.
And
Angel.
Always
in
pink.
With
vibrant
toffee
golden
skin
gleaming
beneath
braids
clasped
with
big
red
balls
of
polyurethane.
The
rain
seems
right.
And
the
color
of
spring
trying
to
find
its
way
back.
Peonies
droop.