Sorting out letters and piles of my old <br /> Canceled checks, old clippings, and yellow note cards <br />That meant something once, I happened to find <br /> Your picture. That picture. I stopped there cold, <br />Like a man raking piles of dead leaves in his yard <br /> Who has turned up a severed hand. <br /> <br />Still, that first second, I was glad: you stand <br /> Just as you stood—shy, delicate, slender, <br />In that long gown of green lace netting and daisies <br /> That you wore to our first dance. The sight of you stunned <br />Us all. Well, our needs were different, then, <br /> And our ideals came easy. <br /> <br />Then through the war and those two long years <br /> Overseas, the Japanese dead in their shacks <br />Among dishes, dolls, and lost shoes; I carried <br /> This glimpse of you, there, to choke down my fear, <br />Prove it had been, that it might come back. <br /> That was before we got married. <br /> <br />—Before we drained out one another’s force <br /> With lies, self-denial, unspoken regret <br />And the sick eyes that blame; before the divorce <br /> And the treachery. Say it: before we met. Still, <br />I put back your picture. Someday, in due course, <br /> I will find that it’s still there.<br /><br />William De Witt Snodgrass<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mementos-1/
