Sam Glaspy's Poetry

2/3/2020- Lost and Found

I like to find photos and postcards in antique stores.

I never read what's on the back.
It's not my business.
Long lost conversations and captions I'll never understand.

There are animals.
They must be dead.
They must have been wonderfully beloved and cherished.
Now I get to remember them and name them without ever meeting them.

There are postcards.
Messages to loved ones to remind them that they're being thought of and missed.
I don't read the messages, because I'm not the person they were for.
I like to imagine myself standing there, in full technicolor animation, adventuring with the people who sent them. We go all over the world.

There are landscapes.
I know photos weren't always easy to take.
These moments must have been important.
Now, I get to take care of these memories that aren't even mine.

There are people.
I don't know them.
I never will.
But they watch as I cry myself to sleep and never blink or turn away in fear of who I am.
They are frozen in thoughts and worlds I will never experience.
But they love me anyway.

I know where these images probably came from.
Maybe they were thrown in with a bunch of donations.
More likely, someone died and said all of their belonging could be given away.
Now, all these memories have been lost and found.