I was cleaning out the garage, to downsize,
opened a cabinet and stared
at thirty years of teaching.
Each contained in as many photo albums.

How have I forgotten these treasures?
It hasn’t been that long ago!

A first collection, at a new school—
competitions and recitations
and ribbons of the rainbows.
Smiling faces.

One, Becca in a white spring hat and pink sundress.
She looks up: ¡Señora!
Her voice jumps off the page,
Aren’t you proud?
Sí. And I was.

Another image of teens creating piñatas after school.
I feel the tackiness of the glue, hear:
¿Bueno?
Me: Sí. ¡Fantástico!

Another appears—
an ordinary day in class.
Tables in a big circle, as always, in an English class.
Someone asked, Did Dickens write anything besides A Christmas Carol?

Yes. I recall that winter break
delving into David Copperfield,
hot chocolate in hand each day,
to share a few passages.

A handful of photos.
A few of many memories.
To keep where?

Another album calls.
I’m not ready to let go.
I pile all into a box.

Wonder and wander back.
Who was I then?

I made it to bed late that day, after
taping it all up. All still—
of a lifetime ago.

Who am I now?
Who will I be?
Will I remember it all?