How did I become keeper of the lost?

All those faces peering at me from tiny

paper rectangles with no identification.

Who are they?

They stare at me and smile like somehow I should know them,

but I don’t and I feel that I have somehow let them down.

They stare at me from the past, trying to make a connection;

Familial I assume, but I don’t recognize them at all.

I find myself wishing they could  speak from beyond the grave-

giving me some idea of who they are.

Did they love people and animals like me?

Did they revel in nature and her many gifts; rivers, mountains,

trees, hand painted skies, and spring fed creeks?

Did they have gardens lush with blooms in every season?

Did they treasure time spent with children?

Who amongst them am I most like? These are mysteries

that won’t be solved – leaving me with the question –

When did I become keeper of the lost?