with time’s optical illusion; we think
we stand in the vivid color of here and now
and view the past as drab black and white,
whereas the truth is—it’s our future
that’s the off-center, badly-focused grayscale,
the day coming when someone picks up
a shapshot and says, just before
tossing it to oblivion, ‘My god,
who are these quaint people?’
~David Huddle, from “Huddle Brothers, Ivanhoe, Virginia; Circa 1963,” Grayscale: Poems
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