This morning I woke up to a barrage of photographs from 8 years ago
when you were still together: divorced now
And I think about how nothing is permanent
It is a constant reminder: a photo of you playing bumper cars
And for all the world you look rapturous and joyful as though
This is all you could ever want: one another
Today she is marrying someone else
And you are on a road trip to the ocean with your own new love
And I don't fit into this picture
But I am effected by it
Staring at roaring colors of our two families at an amusement park
My daughter, ten now, two then squealing in delight with your daughter
Ten then, Eighteen now and headed to college in the autumn
I pour black coffee over chocolate almond milk in my Cancer sign white mug from Target
Everything is normal
And digital photographs don't fade.
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