It's been almost a year now but that dream still feels as if I'm holding it
The way my arms don't want to let go of you
The way your head rest on my shoulder reminds me how to smile through the tears
My thoughts of you are always the picture perfect photographic memories
I feel the weight of your soul falling asleep to the safety of us
So, let your dreams rest in the palm of my hands next to your heart
As my hope cuddles with your pillow
Caress your fingers through my beard
Reassure me that making it through this is just the beginning not the end
I'm the Spider and you're the Marigold
A perfect balance to the crazy unfold
Nothing in life is perfect but when I look at you I think you might be the first
I drink from the image of my favorite picture of us and feel the moment all over again
p.s. Polaroid eyes, Polarizing smile, Polaron feelings stronger than any connection...
Fingertips touch the polaroid photo
my smile is transformed to teardrops;
Locked in a box for so long
I’d almost forgotten that moment;
It wears a crease but not badly damaged
maybe now I can bear the scar;
Traveling instantly back
will finally not give me whiplash;
Frolicking in the bygone reflections
dappled with beams of history;
Perception stood suspended
out of touch with time moving forward;
Emotions transform into a slideshow
each image a sliver of me;
Erased permanent branding,
an edge blacked out with magic marker;
Encased indefinitely in a frame
it’s okay to place on the shelf;
Lighting up at life’s snapshot,
I let the past revisit my mind.
River blue t-shirts
side by side,
three pairs of shoulders.
Wish on an eyelash
for wide smiles,
and shades of black-brown eyes,
gleaming.
Favourite, yellow flower
twelve of them
tied with floral tape
on the new moon, monday,
bright blue sky
Timeless, Polaroid picture.
Seven second serendipitous develop
Macro piano keys maestro, Lord
Ceiling laden with citrus psychedelic
Unsatiated homosapiens flawed
Ghost film fire eye-socket negatives
Kaleidoscope rolls in their skulls
Soiree opaque pink sequin sedatives
Scintillate wicked sinful impulse
Protein hungry industry herds herbivores
Apex predator caves to serpent
Coveted control position consumes pure
Curious article of cruel torment
Sacred score smudged in blood punishes
Hell or Heaven editors insidious
Emit charcoal chuckles, lit match judges
Bicker Bible's pixels ambiguous
Dusk draws hills, halcyon skied silhouette
God made man strive in shadow
Modified paradise prints timely pirouette
Gluttony grabs hanging mangos
22nd February
Sold Fables
Long, winding gravel driveway
decrepit old Mercury station wagon
parked there
doors unlocked
those big red buttons
sticking up
no seatbelts either
Tiger lilies blooming
all-at-once, on
either side
of the gravel
A few years later
a cockeyed backboard
appeared on a tree
supporting an
uneven, rickety
basketball rim
Winters we spent shoveling snow
My neighbor wants to see her photo,
But I do not let her peek as it develops,
because I did that with my cousin Louisa Annabelle.
Louisa Annabelle was horrified as the Polaroid darkened up.
She was gone, disappeared, invisible. There was only a background.
Where did I go? She demanded.
This is when I realized this is no ordinary camera.
Understanding that in the future she will not be around.
“Has it developed yet?” Mrs. McPeek asked.
I jumped a bit, for she was looking over my shoulder.
My hair is so long! She said. And who is that baby?
Sure enough, she was holding a new baby in a blue blanket.
I kept quiet. She already has four boys from ten to five.
So this future seeing camera must be about a year ahead.
Why don’t you take a selfie? My granddaughter asked me.
I did not dare. I am an old woman. I am not ready to know,
I doubt I could take only the background.
The meeting point. Where candle smoke, mixed with incense, meanders through the air. A latent image developing, like a polaroid of prayer, into microscopic particles of silver, weaving into an undulating bridge reaching to heaven. This writhing wreath of smoke, twisting in the sun’s rays, that probe with bright fingers, through slatted windows high above. Here, in this place, the fears, the worries, the kaleidoscope of chaos we call life, melts and dissipates, like the drifting, venerable vapours. I am emptied but enriched. In the presence of a love that bids me return, that reassures me, gives me courage, fulfilment and peace. The spirit surges, firing up within me like the old boiler in our hallway, roaring with love, re-igniting the flame planted within in me long, long ago.
Renewed, forgiven.
Reconciled. I understand.
I am not alone.
We have friends
Close with
Still communicating
Thinking they are forever there
In the moments to come
Talking about random things
Going deep in our souls
Doing everything
Being there
For each other
Hopefully for a lifetime
The thing is
There is no control
For all of them to stay
Being initiative
To understand
To look at the same picture
Sad reality check
We may have been prioritized
Saved as favourites and not
What vulgar words to state
For friendship
They look kind
But their actions say otherwise
Stabbing us
Asking us whether we are ok
We wanna so hard
To give reasons of the doubt
They will change
Just a phase
But what is allowed
Will be continue
Snowball till it is too much for us
Being taken advantaged
Sucking up dry
Ending up
Like a floormat
To be stepped on
Do not try anymore
Let go
Walk away
Leave some places
For someone
Who are worth to be called
A friend...
© Sue Sanzz 2020
Your memory is
like an expired polaroid
film - I still keep it
as though it would be
the most precious treasure of
mine, yet I am
aware of the truth:
till I walk this earth I will
never take a look at it.
one thing we are never told
pictures taken in polaroid
have a way of fading over time
very much like you and me
and the picture we used to be
no longer has that kodachrome shine
it happens to the best of us
the color fade of wanderlust
bringing out the worst in black and white
one thing i'm relying on
although i'm barely hanging on
is the picture of us left in my mind
Three, two, one. . . Smile
When cameras snap and flicker
Happiness brought for awhile
Three, two, one. . . Smile
Different poses and style
Comes a photo to remember
Three, two, one. . . Smile
When cameras snap and flicker
Nostalgic in noon
Apostrophe in desire
Linger kiss on you
No not the portrait when you were younger, my dear
Just a Polaroid snapshot at the beach that year
No earrings, no make-up, your hair was a mess
("So what? Got a problem? I couldn't care less!")
Brother-in-law behind you, mugging like a fool
Our nephew beside him, trying to look cool
You had a little patch of sand on your chin
But oh, what a smile; what a wide, joyful grin!
Living that moment, on a rollicking high
Complete in the present, no when and no why
(Now you're tucked away safe in our own special place
So you'll always stay with me when I tremble and ache
Sometimes I unfold you when I miss you too much
Press you tight to my forehead and weep at your touch)
The photo is crisp, although somewhat
faded, its glossy surface skewed
by highlighted creases, which appear like
white lines under an incandescent ceiling
lamp.
That lamp flickers - the only light
source in the room, and the plastic
Polaroid flicks in and out, an image
of a man and his lady, arms
around one another, in winter,
in snow laden fields. He had
misplaced his ring that day.
He looks. He remembers. He looks
again.
He remembers the smell of
makeup, the touch of wool coats
and feather-soft hair felt through
the thick of winter gloves, and the
low of Appalachian winds, which
whistle their eerie howl between
dead branches. He closes his eyes
and pictures the sunset.
He had misplaced his ring that
day. It was a cold day, and
windy, with white tornadoes
and sugared pines. He
can see the naked callous
on his finger.
The sting on the lobes, the
numbness around the nose
and chapped lips - that lamp
flickers again, and in those
black moments, he feels it
over, and over --
and he misses her. Deeply, he misses her.
"An error will result is you place HTML in this field"
Funny!
Usually I never pay one iota of attention to all this extra scribble (except for the fact that I
can't curse (f*@k!)), but this is bad for a writing network!
OK. Enough
This polaroid I just found is a beautiful recollection of a memory
Almost lost in the files of my life:
My grandfather and me swinging in a park
Pure bliss
I love pictures as they are portals to another time
Not quite as potent as the olfactories
Nonetheless, they can be a direct shot to the heart
Thoughts swell and animate as the moment comes back
Although exposed to hyporetention and personal editing
This is partially why we are alive...
Just to remember
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