That Old Roll of Film

I open the envelope as you sleep in,
and I see
me, my hair strawberry,
my skin bronze,
my body taut as canvas
being held playfully in your virile arms--
arms stout as tree trunks--
in our backyard
under the shade
of the eucalyptus.

The bittersweet pang of nostalgia creeps in
as I carry the photo to the fridge
and place it under a magnet like a time capsule.
I know that lump in my throat will dissipate
as I swill my morning coffee
as I feed the baby
as I make the shopping list and
wait for you to rouse from slumber.