I look at words I typed, years
ago.
My
mind’s eye calls back the books on my desk,
sharp
new scent and glossy paper in one,
mellow
crumbling and hand-lettering on back of another,
and
the oak outside the window beside the desk,
and
the racket outside, the primary school boy
pushing
his little brothers up the driveway
in
the Barbie Jeep their sister had outgrown,
and
the blue and white house dress I was wearing,
the
tropical fish stamped on the shower curtain
the
avocado-green wall-mounted rotary phone
in
the kitchen where we stir-fried vegetables for dinner.
The
memory is intact, long gone, and good.
I
look at a snapshot taken the same year.
I
recognize the faces of the same children
but
they never looked like that to me.
First
of all the light’s too bright: that shirt,
in
real life, had color and pattern, and the Jeep
had
shadows of pink decals the boys scrubbed off.
More
than that, in real life their mouths didn’t hang open;
their
eyes moved and darkened, when they were awake.
They
had depth as well as length and width.
They
smelled faintly of shampoo and little-kid sweat,
and
moved, and breathed, and talked.
Sometimes
a snapshot does preserve a moment.
More
often it preserves a distraction:
“Stop
what you’re doing and come here and pose.”
This
picture of the children’s not professional
but
still it holds no one particular memory
nor
even a collection of similar memories.
Their
mother told them to sit still and pose.
The
blank generic photo shows the shadows...
I’ve
lived my whole life with astigmatism.
I
read small print, signs all the way down the block,
and
I can sit and play with shape and color
for
hours, and enjoy it; but my real life
is
lived in texture, sound, and movement.
Sight’s
always least reliable of the three
primary
senses. Visual art’s diversion
for
down time when nothing’s being heard or felt.
I
see emotions in facial expressions
if
I look at a photo long enough,
but
seldom bother in real life, because voices
are
so much more reliable and relevant.
Somebody
else can save the family pictures.
They
disappoint me. I prefer the words.
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