FADING AWAY…

Sarah Insalaco

In my hand, a thread of time,
A photograph worn, edges fraying,
Their face, a ghost from the past,
Captured in light, now gently fading.

The photographs, once carefully preserved,
now fused in their archival sleeves,
Bound together by the flood’s force,
A fragile testament to what was lost.

The paper is thin beneath my fingers,
A relic of a life long gone,
To let it go feels like erasing,
As if their memory might be withdrawn.

The flood came swift, a mountain’s tear,
Rushing through hollers and ridges,
Sweeping away all that wasn’t anchored,
Including the last image of them.

If I release it, will they be lost forever?
Their laughter, their voice, their tender smile,
Is this the only trace that remains,
Of a soul who once walked these hills?

Here I stand, between past and unknown,
Holding the weight of their existence,
To discard it feels deeply wrong,
Yet keeping it brings no solace.

As an archivist, I’m bound to preserve,
To keep the stories that time would erase,
But the flood took more than just the past—
It took a sense of purpose, left me adrift.

The flood took it away, from this Kentucky land,
This fragile bond, this photograph,
Gone in the water’s relentless force,
Lost to the depths, their fleeting presence.

Am I the keeper of their days?
A guardian of memories long forgotten?
Or did the flood, in its sweeping force,
Release them from the past, set them free?

But still, I cannot let go,
The image of them, now swept away,
In the flood’s wake, they find their peace,
A memory washed, yet not erased.

So I stand, caught in this moment,
Between memory and loss,
In these hills, I seek my own healing,
Even as time bids me to let go.

The mountains, they too have scars,
From waters that surged and receded,
Yet they endure, as must I,
In preserving what remains, finding peace in release.