Old Photos

I look at your hands

Holding old photos

Helping me sort out the years;

And I feel my anger vanish

At the times you didn't come to say goodnight

Or barely held my hand

As you dashed along the street

Me, a footstep behind.

Now the evening is ours.

I see photos slip away and fall onto your lap

And you

Bring them together in your hands and hold them fast.