Clouded

How many family albums have been thrown away
to make room for Tonka trunks and ruffled dresses,
Tinker Toys scattered across closet shelves?

Of what use are lives lived fifty years ago or more?
Store them neatly on computers,
sealed behind glass for all to easily see,
taking up space
only somewhere
in a cloud–floating above

so if the cloud is ever broken,
they will float down like rain
to soak white sheets hanging on clotheslines,
or onto windshields to be scraped away
by wiper blades–
like fine gnats or raindrops–

vertical memories
floating onto our horizontal world,
bringing the past to soak into the present.
Falling action becoming forward motion,
carried to the future.  All things indivisible.

Everything still here–
even if as ash
from burning albums,
curling crisply
and blown away.

The Prompt:  Do Not Disturb–How do you manage your online privacy? Are there certain things you won’t post in certain places? Information you’ll never share online? Or do you assume information about you is accessible anyway?