Frozen Light

I don’t know how to reconcile
this heart with the last —
or this body —
or these hands.
I lay my photographs
one on top of the other
as if they are made of
tracing paper —
as if I could spot the difference.
As if seventeen
would show me how much
nineteen had shaved off,
or how much twenty-three had softened
all the sharp edges
I had kept.
But they are only photographs.
Frozen time.
Only a girl who looks like me
— or who is me —
or who was me.
They are only reflections of light,
like the stars,
reaching me here now
years later, trying to figure out how the past
works into the present,
or why I carry it around with me
thinking it should still mean something.
That heart — that body —
those hands.
They mean nothing.
Like the stars, burning away.
They mean nothing.
They are only light.
That camera flash and
gone — that girl is gone —
and I am gone
— and here again.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: