The Photograph

The moment looks straight over me through its reflected black camera lense, Black and white shadows
Their straight lines cross directly over your porcelain white flesh, Rose curved hips milky white tummy tucked in Breasts shadowed and softened Thighs rounded and smooth, With virgin skin Down to your knees Which are creased white and bent Tredded on,
You insinuate worldliness The innocence of youth, The leftover smell of coffee Wafting over from the kitchen, Cars passing from outside of the sun tinted, white rimmed window As people walk to church From across the street. You feel the familiarity of warm carpet under your wide feet
Calloused toes, freshly painted beige walls Paper covered counters,
You didn’t wonder then Where you would travel When you snapped this picture Your thoughts drifting in front of you Screaming of youth Of naivety A certain innocent placement in your life;
You didn’t think to think That you could wander through generations of hands Worked and wrinkled Clean and soft Across the world.
2006, Framed and hung Placed on the wall above the liquor Directly across from where the people order their meals. 2013, A cottage in Alaska Right below the drifting white
curtain, The residents look at you as a reminder of the city of Portland, where you visited a little thrift store, years ago. Your family gazed many times at the curve of your hips, your long hair grazing your back Didn’t spend a second thinking of where you were at that time What your house felt like To be your own In your exact moment of intimacy With your city Your mind Your life Yourself.
And all you are now Is a photograph Worn at the edges Black and white ink A red frame Placed on the dark hardwood piano top, Your face is hidden Your body exposed,
All in the eyes of a stranger