Unfamiliar

There is a photo of me at a wedding
I look so slight
my hair is wavy
quite perfect
my make-up makes me look
unfamiliar
like a 1930s secretary
that little beaded purse
I remember only
that it contained nothing.
I stare
at that photograph sometimes
as though I am my own child
overcome with a strange sadness
wishing I could be there
know everything
about that impenetrable face.