Photographs (1)

There are photos,
Lots of photos
Stuck up on my bedroom wall
The thick, viscous blue tac making grease marks on the newly painted surface.
I don't know why
Suppose it was an impulse,
The insatiable need for memories.
You see,
I don't remember much...

Childhood tantrums blur into one long wail,
Smiles beaming down become twisted frowns,
Or at least
That's what I'm left with.

It's like the people in the photos are there,
Right there
In the room with me.
I can feel their hands on my skin,
Their voices soft in my ear
Or maybe only one voice.
He's in the photos,
The man I never met
Yet i am forced to mourn for him everyday when my mother walks through the door
And it is only me who greets her.