First day with glasses. I am fourteen.
“Oh, look, Jean has glasses!”
From him who wears glasses.
I want to disappear.
Fifty years go by. I ask if he remembers.
He does not. The memory is mine.
We were good students.
It was the glasses.

First day with glasses. I am fourteen.
“Oh, look, Jean has glasses!”
From him who wears glasses.
I want to disappear.
Fifty years go by. I ask if he remembers.
He does not. The memory is mine.
We were good students.
It was the glasses.
RononvanWrites #Weekly #Haiku#Poetry Prompt #Challenge #222 Breath&Unite
Used collaborating for Unite.