Grandfather's keepsake

An old photograph slips from a cracked spine

like a secret sliding out of reach.

Edges curled and yellowed,

fingers never meant to hold it,

wearing thin where years passed by.

Inside a worn leather wallet

folded small, tucked in a book,

there’s the ghost of his hand,

holding a time

that never stops fading,

a face blurring

in the quiet corners of memory.

I catch the photo, cold and fragile,

as if holding him

would bring back the spaces

between.