A Made Up Kind of Truth

a poem about nostalgia... and lying...

I have this one picture of my parents together in their adult youth.
Well, it’s not one picture,
but two separate portraits in a double frame.
They were never one. Never.

Mom’s image is formal and portrait-like;
Probably a graduation picture
with her perfect hair and her beautifully poised bare shoulders.

Dad’s is more of a snapshot - unrehearsed -
in an old sweatshirt, arms spread wide
and braced on something beyond the frame.

Both are looking off camera;
Both sport a hint of a smile
and the slightest arch of an eyebrow,
as if they’re each telling a sly, sexy secret to the other.

But it’s funny,
they never shared this look
in their lives.
Only in this double frame
do they seem to carry on the wordless, knowing conversation of lovers.

Having them frozen so,
I can be nostalgic
for the past that never was.