Basement Projector

Five o’clock shadow on my gaunt-faced
guardian, shattered by the sorrow of
separation we face every day –
he dreams of his brown-eyed girl of
yesteryears. Watch that smile peel back
on an old projector in a forgotten room,
coated with mementos of our love in
better times: less strange, more range
of expression. Brown suit, black top hat,
even though they don’t match they all
mean love to me; short brown hair, red
painted lips leaving a last trace of their
passing on a rough cheek, seldom graced
by tears; fears, or the ghosts of memories
from yesteryears.