They smile

through fading colors,

their faces proud

and hopeful. She wears

a long white dress, and

his yarmulke is slightly

crooked.

Oblivious

of the camera, they

look into each other's eyes,

and dream of

years

to come.



They stand

together. She

is pregnant and radiant,

sitting beside

him. Behind them,

a green house that was

their first home fades

in the sun.



In his arms,

he cradles the

long-ago baby that

has grown

and gone.



Now they sit

apart, a child

between them. She says,

"It's okay, honey, you

still have two parents."

And he says, "That's right,

we'll always be there, just

not together."



And they look

away, silent, as if

someone has torn in two

those old photos, leaving

a jagged line of

emptiness

between two people who

were once

in love.