|Photo ~ T.H. O'Connor|
I remember my childhood in black and white
and fading like a photograph
not properly fixed, spotted yellow in the corners.
The little girl I was caught by the camera lens
in white socks without shoes
holding a white daisy, leaning against a dark smudge of wall
and looking dolefully at Daddy
who had called me out on a rainy day to pose.
I remember how my father turned a hall closet
into a darkroom with a red bulb
and he would call me inside to see the inexplicable sight
of myself appearing underwater on blank paper
growing darker against the light.
I thought he was a man who could do anything,
and loved him for inviting me into this secret world
and making me the star of the show.
Just the other day, a photo arrived via cellphone
over-exposed, a collection of pixils, so tiny
and intangible, to be lost on a memory card.
In it you are sitting on your cream-coloured sofa,
your hair so softly white and fragile as morning mist
and on your lap sits a black and white cat.
I wonder at the way time has divided us from days
when I was your shadow, developing.