Photographic Memory
I thought I had a photo of you in my head.
I pulled it out
every day to read the bluish-grey on your expression
and try to find you in the background of your body.
I'd trace the contours
of your face and notice that your beard was perfectly even,
trimmed by gods to mirror themselves.
I'd never before noticed the divinity of facial hair.
I'd study that face until I could see no difference
between it and my own and then realize
that I have no such picture--
that no such thing exists or could.
That your face was mine and
that my face is holy.
And I put the picture--the one that does not exist--
I put the picture in the pocket of my deepest sorrows
and forgot that it was (not) there.
And thank god.
(You're welcome.)
I pulled it out
every day to read the bluish-grey on your expression
and try to find you in the background of your body.
I'd trace the contours
of your face and notice that your beard was perfectly even,
trimmed by gods to mirror themselves.
I'd never before noticed the divinity of facial hair.
I'd study that face until I could see no difference
between it and my own and then realize
that I have no such picture--
that no such thing exists or could.
That your face was mine and
that my face is holy.
And I put the picture--the one that does not exist--
I put the picture in the pocket of my deepest sorrows
and forgot that it was (not) there.
And thank god.
(You're welcome.)
Labels: Life, Sarah Keil