Snapshot

The picture was taken
from too far away

the two of us sit on the
apartment steps
the manicured shrubs on
either side dominate
we are framed, she and I,
by wrought-iron railings

Still, it is the only picture
of us that I have

she wears sunglasses and
her acorn-hued hair
cascades over her right
shoulder, trickles down
almost to her lap

I sit on her left
my hand behind, not quite
coming around her back

We hadn’t been together
very long; a few weeks
later any snapshot would
have been much different

more focused, more intimate
more of what we became
before we went our
separate ways

All that is left is a yellowing
bent-corners Instamatic
photo, circa 1979

Were it of anyone else,
finding it in a stack of old
pictures I would squint,
wondering just who these
people were, so far away
from the picture taker

In focus

Grainy black-and-white squares of
life framed in sometimes dated white;
glossy paper mosaic tile dioramas

snippets of life that have given way to
phone-shot, high resolution videos
that show all, tell virtually nothing

You can’t sift through a file full of
instant gratification videos,
you can’t scroll through a pile of
snapshots of folks in old clothes,
funny hair, tagging them for viewers

sieving through grainy black-and-white
squares clamped by thumb, forefinger
along the white border-frame, zooming
in and out by hand to gain better focus
I can see things a whole lot more clearly