Little Things

A book of metal binding
Holds three pictures, sometimes six
All the faces smiling
They didn’t live through this
The edges, they are blackened
From the smoke, not from the heat
These are the survivors
of the fire of 16th street
My mother and my father
In black tux and wedding dress
Smiling with their eyes
Thats the part I think I’ll miss
Family Christmas of ’87
I am barely there
My sister keeping me still
By holding my little bear

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