The phone glowed a pale square in the dim

The phone glowed, a pale square in the dim,

'On This Day,' a memory, almost forgotten.

A blurry picnic, sunlight on a limb,

the faces indistinct, slightly rotten

with time's soft decay.

But I zoomed in, past the smiling, absent faces,

to the corner of a blanket, green and frayed.

There, half-eaten, resting in forgotten spaces,

a sandwich. Its bread, that distinct shade

of pale, dry wonder.

And suddenly, I could taste it, the grainy bite,

the way the sun had warmed the plastic cheese.

Not the moment, not the company, but the light

on that sandwich, bringing me to my knees

with a memory I hadn't known I kept.