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Misplaced Nostalgia
My grandfather slapped my knee repeatedly
 Each slap driving away a distraction 
 Until he had my full attention. I turned my back to the room.
 He smiled, satisfied. We flipped open a photo album 
 Its spine creaking, its pages wrinkled from over-use. 
 He pointed at one coffee-stained picture 
 And drew a circle around a little girl with his finger. 
 She stood in the middle, a flower crown resting on her head 
 Her white dress blinding in contrast to the grey background 
 Her eyes framed by dark eyelashes. 
 Your mother, my grandfather said softly, 
 Was a beautiful child.

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