Scrapbook Child
Her petal-shaped eyes, pinched at the end
saw colour in its true, bright form.
Forever five,
I know her like the sea knows the shore:
returning and retreating,
different at every meeting.
My wavering reflections shadows
her in the printed sheen.
I think everyone feels a little strange when they see photos of themselves as a child. You are them and should know them but you almost don't.
