Valid Through

I was looking for a bill when I found your face—

mine, technically, but nine years out of place,

the hair grown longer, the light blown white,

a country listed that no longer has the right

to claim me. I sat down on the hall floor.

I don't know why. I wasn't grieving, more

just holding something that had once been true

the way you'd hold a stone that once broke through

a window. Here: the overexposed cheek,

the eyes that didn't know what they would seek

or lose or leave behind in the next decade.

The photo doesn't smile. It's slightly afraid,

or that's just me now, reading backward in.

The box went back. The landlord got his scan.

I made myself some tea and let it cool.