Freeze Frame

Back when photographs
came from film
wound up tight as the fear of heights
inside my chest
I stood on the sharp red edge
of the Grand Canyon
and smiled
as if that camera
was going to remember it better than me—
but the delicate pink streaks
that hovered in that orange sky
still cling to the black frame of my memory.

I never saw those pictures.
Never took them anxiously
to the one hour developer or filed them
carefully into a keepsake album.

Back when photographs
came from film,
those glossy spools were contained
in small black canisters
that became wheels of speed
racing toward gravity
if you dropped them accidentally
on the slightest slope
near the deepest
deadliest most beautiful edge—
you will never forget.
You have no choice but to remember.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
3-4-15

 

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