Mortalised
i.
Eyes squinting in the sunlight, as these memories are made
material. Not our family, not our stories, yet these are meals
we might have shared, lovers we might have held.
ii.
What prompted her to take out her camera? The energy
of a group of friends laughing, a warm arm around a shoulder,
play of light on clouds, soft lawn underfoot while leisurely
meandering. Can we breathe life into that photo now they’re older?
Photos of strangers, but like family in the way they stand together,
connected by skin, a positional angle or a momentary glance.
Why did she ignore the camera to turn to that man? Did it last forever?
We’ll never know about the motive or the outcome by their stance.
Trying the door of where they used to live: Locked. The allure
of fate playing hide and seek like light dappling around
silhouettes. They felt that day like sunburn. Faces implore
us to know them. Their stories are lost, but images found.
It’s a borrowed nostalgia but the familiarity is strong.
You are your own fiction, but who’s reading it after you’re gone?
iii.
I’m not the one in the red dress.
I’m outside leaning against the door frame.
Taking the picture, wondering how to enter the room.
Poem Acknowledgement, After Clara Adolphs. Various works from Your Own Fiction exhibition at Chalk Horse, Sydney, January 12 – 15 2023. Note references to Philip Larkin’s “Dockery and Son” from the Whitsun Weddings.
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