Wrinkled Remembrances
By: Jessica Bell

The face of his little girl
in the crease of Kodak paper. Her
stolen big brown eyes and borrowed
button nose, framed by Shirley Temple’s
curls. That smile though –

the one that can bring sunshine
even in this dark place –
that is all hers. Frozen
in time, out of place
in his cracked, blistered

hands she is witness to her father
transforming within a cocoon of
fused bars and pronged wires. He
flashes a half-cocked smile, recalls
the tug on his pant-leg

the outstretched arms of
his little girl – the thief who stole
his heart. Sirens sounding
startle the smile from his face. Fists form,
teeth clench his lower lip as his heart

quickly hardens. The scream of regulation
requires he stand to be counted –
third time today. With a glance
at the smile held tight in his hands,
whitened knuckles regain their olive hue and

carefully, caringly, tuck away
his little girl. They took
his clothes, his ring and even
his name. He is a number
ironed on another empty shirt.