Class Reunion 2002, Photo 23 of 30

At the very moment
this photo was taken,
I was stepping into the Pacific
for the first time.
The entire country separated us.
You could not have known
I would, two years later,
hold this picture in my hands,
pore over it looking for clues:
your finely veined arms,
like marble; the slight
curve of your lips;
someone else’s wedding ring
on your left hand.
The other people beside you
don’t matter. It’s as if
they’re not even there.
There is only you
looking out of the photo
as if for escape, and me
looking to get in. The years
separate us more surely
than the continent did.
Do you know, the Pacific
was as warm as a bath.
It tasted of tears, of loss,
of loving someone for fifteen years
and having nothing tangible but a photo,
taken unawares, as proof.

Amy Durant has a BA in Poetry from Binghamton University. She currently lives in the Albany area, where she works for a web media firm by day and at a local community theatre at night. Her poems have been published in a number of poetry magazines, such as 200 Proof, Somniloquy, and Parting Gifts.