It's not the photo, it's the series.
This is all upside down; me taking pictures
Of buildings on the beach, you taking pictures
Of parents kissing children. I hold you close,
Then you're far away. On the road trip south
I thought you twirling your finger in your hair
Was pretty, now I know it's distant danger,
As when you wake to a stunning sunset in Ohio
Caused by smoke drifting in from a California wildfire.
The day was bad, as some are. But then, there were the
Days when it was still young and the house was still
Empty and the blinds weren't yet on the windows.
When you could see everything, when those
Driving past could jealously watch. Who will
Now tell me when there is food in my teeth?
You say you flip things I say in your brain.
Bedside retainer. See what comes up after
The fire. You don't trust my driving, don't
Trust me with other women. Objects in mirror are
Closer than they appear. Self-inflicted wounds to lick.
Your hand in mine and we are fine. Whisper:
Retain her. You take pills for your heart. You teach
Francesca Woodman, shoot for The New Yorker.
You have the straightest teeth. Hold two fingers
To your wrist. Count. The day was bad, as some are, but
It's not the photo, it's the series. An anxious pulse
Through everything. You get bad thoughts and call,
Tachycardia. I come over to talk and you cry.
Bradycardia. Tell me what you're thinking
The quiet things we did to each other in my aunt's bedroom.
Mornings when your whole house is light and you next
To me. The day was good, as most are.
This is all upside down; me taking pictures.
It's not the photo, it's the series.
