i have this photograph.
i have this photograph
of you.
i have this photograph
of you at sunset.
i have this photograph
of you. at sunset. by a pool
in a mountain stream. your camera
is pointed at me. your flash
is lit. a halo of white
obscures your face; you--
an invisible angel
lost behind the luminous machine of memory.
only your suntanned arms,
your stomach,
your independent legs, remain.
i assume you have
somewhere in your possession
an identical photo of me:
stupid sideways grin
and unkempt summer hair
mercifully obscured
by the light i shone on you
exactly when you chose
to shine your light on me.
our fingers must have moved
in perfect sync that one time once;
our two hands must have been a single hand
a gesture an echo
an act of attention
a mirrored action
a union that spanned
the chasm of a mountain stream
that fading afternoon.
i can no longer say
where we were, or why, or even when.
i remember only you:
the pool, your arms and legs,
that burst of perfect white.
the trivia of time, of place, of motive
fades away.
3 comments:
That was very pretty. I like the fade in effect you created at the beginning. To constructively critisize, it seems to me, that although the cool format of the poem makes it better there should be more information included about the relationship between the first person narrator and the girl. Did they ever get married, did she die, did she turn out to be a horrible person in the end. I think this poem would benefit by making the image of her an echo of what she really is, or is now. With an extra detail I think it could be pushed from pretty to profound.
(My first post had a spelling mistake so I deleted and republished)
An interesting thought, Jayden. Maybe it's a difference of age and perspective between us, but I find that what matters most is not the details of endings, but the indelible impressions of people and actions. What matters most is not what became of her, or of him; it is the moment they shared. You are looking forward to the story; I am looking back to the memory. But feel free to invent a story for them, as I invented a memory of them.
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