earthquake

for twenty years
you kept a frame on a shelf
always out of reach
and tilted just so
encasing a photo
of nothing

no one ever asked
and you never
mentioned why
and eventually
your dust
colored it forgotten

but nothing ever dies
without revealing bones

and one day
the earth
grumbled just enough
to tip that empty square
into transparent
shards

slicing
through silence
with the clean
cold precision
of yesterday’s
knife

to reveal
a second picture
always hidden
from view
screaming
the truth

in lost time

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.
Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

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