In the Cathedral: Images & Confessions

Tanya, Time and Memories

Snow falls and settles upon everything with
a still layer of whiteness that hides
the dirty collars that lie underneath. I stay
inside and watch the flakes float down. Out of
the corner of my eye I catch a reflection in the window,
of a reflection in the mirror
of a photograph that lies upon my dresser top.
There we stand with our crocodile and Cheshire smiles,
being captured in a moment of foolishness that might have been forgotten if the picture had not been taken.

Aesthetically, the picture is poor.
Badly proportioned, a deplorable background,
with too little light illuminating our features.
Somewhere in a photo album I know
there is a better picture, (or two) of your and me
at other moments, with other people, in other places,
but still I chose to keep this picture prominent.

Something about it speaks of a thousand memories
that mean nothing to those who do not need to know
of them. Of silver lions and dragons on a a New
York night. Of splashing through puddles atop a bridge
on the way to the bakery. (of being encouraged by
the other when we had discouraged ourselves.) Of off-key
singing sessions and heart-to-hearts while creating
photographs like the one I see before me now. Little
memories of each other that even the other right have
forgotten. These little pieces of paper have words and
images upon them that unlock those moments. We hold
in our minds impressions of the other, and I fear
that I have the better fragments.

©1990

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