I once stole a photo
from a widow’s purse.
I was 15, and I was lonely…chronically.
The colour print was that of her daughter,
dressed in a white gown,
maybe at a wedding,
maybe at a convocation.
She was beautiful, and she was my age.
She is my age now.
Her father was a famous author,
and I’d had a sporadic letter-writing back and forth with him.
I met him when I was 12 or so.
He died at 60…just a year older than I am now.
There was a memorial for him in our city,
and this is how I found myself in a room near the widow’s purse.
With the room briefly empty and my breath held,
I lift the photo with lightning fingers and a bolt of guilt.
I taped the picture to my locker at school
and would let the door linger open between classes
in the hope that everyone would think I was claimed by someone.
That’s hope for you.
They lived in Fort Worth, Texas.
This is what I was thinking about, mostly, during our time there.
gh
Photo: On the road out of Fort Worth, Texas, July 13, 2023.
Gregory Hoskins 