Time in A Picture Frame

It seems to me unreal that once we lived in this abode
before we migrated westward seeking to save the house
from foreclosure swift and hard.

And now, we're back from where we started,
where I used to grow my stash in a corn patch behind the clothes line.
I can still smell and see the laundry snap in the gusts of March.

How many times, you asked me to give up the foul addiction,
which for me was soul deep inhalations.
A bad habit ain't no flimsy character.

In desperation, I felt at times I had to do something, even theater,
and so I faked several suicides to keep you guessing.
Our marriage was an icky situation.

If only our descendents knew the trials you suffered and those I, too, endured.
It's true I loved you from day one, though that it took decades
to reconcile our differences.

Hear the crow sonatas on the power line.
Listen to the geese travelogue in flight over the Elizabeth River.
Taste the salt wind blow across the Chesapeake.

Probe, if you will, the yellowing, fading album.
I am there, you are there...the uncles, the aunts, the kids.
All a family history smiles for the camera.