Obsession

Throwback Thursday . . .

In late nineteen seventy-nine
I stumbled onto postcards
In Portland Mrs. Arneson
Sold me a group of discards
These time capsules just caught my eye
A street scene or a wedding
They captured life without a lie
Each vulnerable setting
And as I sat there at her table 
Shoebox spilling secrets
I wondered was I capable
Of researching these streetlets
Of knowing more about these spots
Forgotten and obscure
Of finding other postcard lots
A search that would endure
That handful that I took that night
Started me out on a trek
My stacks of cards are quite a sight
Obsession gone unchecked
The faces that look back at me
Set down in black and white
Life’s unofficial history
And journey of delight . . .