A Short And Sweet Kind Of Magic
Taking photographs of strangers at the park,
I wonder upon the foundations in which
they were built.
Did their mother sing them to sleep?
Did they not have a mother?
The most important questions
are the rhetorical things.
Did they practice piano
or attend dance recitals?
Creativity is a beautiful thing.
Were they encouraged,
or discouraged?
I think that eventually
you become what you become,
regardless of anything.
Back to my work:
Old couples hold hands.
A Black woman plays jazz.
Newlyweds skip.
Teenagers kiss.
A clumsy kid trips.
A duck quacks.
Fountains spew.
Flowers bloom.
Everyone laughs,
and God smiles.
This world is as ugly
as it is beautiful.
Today,
I am grateful
for all the pretty parts.
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