The Awkward Frame

Cleaning the desk drawer,

a kind of archaeological dig

through old bills, dried-up pens,

a forgotten button.

And there it was.

The family reunion, years back.

Wallet-sized, stiff paper.

My hair, too short,

a bad idea I thought was brave.

My smile, a forced thing,

stretched thin across my teeth.

The flash made my eyes

look dead, or worse,

like I was somewhere else entirely,

already planning an escape.

My head, tilted at that angle,

so unnatural, trying to fit in,

or stand out, I don’t know which.

It just sits there,

a small piece of evidence

I was always a little off.