The Lighthouse

There is a lighthouse
In the background of the photo I have of us.
We didn’t notice it at the time.
If we were ships we would have run aground;
If we were birds the glass would’ve broken our necks.
Yet in the photo it is glorious,
A pillar of grey and white
(the photo is black and white)
Just off my right shoulder.
And still, with this beacon in the background
It does not distract from the two faces,
Neither smiling or not smiling;
Content is the word.
I remember you saying it’s the best picture of us;
That’s why you gave it to me.
A small sentimental gift to remember the day.
And I do remember it so, every minute
I play it over and over in my head
To make me feel happy,
Rather than wishing I were dead.
I look at the photo, and we two in it,
The small sentimental gift to remember the day,
And I remember feeling unbearably free.
It offers some tactile and much needed solace
From the hurt
That I so often find piling
Up, higher than a lighthouse, and it’s our faces
That breaks the spell. It’s a good trick I have found,
And will permit me to grow older;
My greasy black hair becoming brilliant white
(or maybe even black and white)
And it will be the two of us, the two of us,
And my positive thoughts will get the chance to flex.
Promise me we will lie on the beach, and the sound
Of the sea will be sublime.
In the background of the photo I have of us,
There is a lighthouse.