The album was dusty from years on the top shelf,

pushed to the side, ignored if not forgotten.

The photos were fading but the edges were still crisp.

We marveled that the faces were so young,

even those long gone were young then —

younger than I am now.

I found myself looking, again and again,

at the girl in the green plaid pants,

wondering what she thought about,

back then, on that winter morning,

before she left home and started to be me.

Wendy Freborg is a retired social worker and former editor whose work has appeared in Right Hand Pointing, The Orchards Poetry Journal, Rat’s Ass Review, and WestWard Quarterly. Her pleasures are her family, crossword puzzles, learning new things, and remembering old times.

Photo Credit: Tana Lee Gorecki