This Is What Happened To Their Eyes Who was it that said
a photograph should appear
to be its own light source?
The light shines not upon the paper
it emerges, glowing, from within the paper
you don’t look at the picture
the picture looks at you
(and when you go to the zoo
who purchases the peanuts?
who is enclosed by bars?
who’s performing, who’s being judged?
are the animals ignorant, or crossly begrudged?) Who was it that told me
she’d rather I not take her picture
‘cause my renderings never flatter her?
I asked her if she was loathe
to peer into mirrors,
and she said no
she does it every day
for at least 15 minutes.
I asked her if she was loathe
to peer into her own soul
and she said no
she meditates every day
for at least 30 minutes.
So then I asked her if she was loathe
to allow peers to peer
into her soul,
because although only you can see yourself in a mirror
anyone can see your picture
for it is a manipulative mirror image
casting your countenance
universally;
I remember screaming
in slightly less-polished words:
“Photos aren't supposed to flatter!
they're supposed to dig deep gashes
into your skin
reveal the multi-faceted soul within
diverse like glass, stained and shattered
basking in the painful, battering flash
that captures your human
failings, the serpentine rapture
that ruptures demure complacency”
and then I lifted the camera
pressed the hated button
down, and up
came the flash
and when I rehashed the moment
in a lab with chemicals
I stared at the pictographic abyss
with the scrutiny of my craft,
and laughed when I saw
the jutting glow
of her fuming eyes
staring back
at me.