Photos

Photos. Picture-perfect memories. I remember things with my camera. I cover my wall in moments. They snapshot the people and remind me of the smiles I love.

For me, the photos are the memories and the moments. When I have a picture with someone it means we have been together enough to care. Five years ago I had to steal a girl I barely away from our choir to stage a photo shoot for our school newspaper - my best friend now, we haven't stopped taking pictures of and with each other since.

One of my dear friends and I have spent three years never being in the same place at the same time with a remembered camera. Granted, we live on opposite coasts for most of that time, but although it's become a point of humor, it saddens me that I don't have pictures of her. My photo albums - the physical photo ones, not the internet-facebook albums - are pored over and shared. I grew up with my father proudly showing albums from my childhood; I loved seeing all of the moments, being told all the stories.

This is why I want pictures - to share the memories and tell the stories. I want to show my albums and share where I have been and what I have been doing the past three years of my life. I want to be able to point to friends, to places, and say, "Look, this is where I was at this time; this person changed me, and when this picture was taken we were doing this."

To tell the story - to know my friends.

Memories

Memories. Walking ghosts. Living in the moment and walking through the chill. Sitting down to eat and suddenly, suddenly being accosted by the old friend, long gone, now sitting beside you. The people you are with fade as faces grow stronger, your memory erases the moment you live in and you fall into the past as the laughter grows stronger in your ears. You blink and they live in space no longer, a loud noise and your friends have gone - Whispers are all that remain.

Spinning

Spinning and dashing and tumbling around,
Earth is heaven and heaven is ground.
Up now is down now is side to the side
Who knows what what is, you're along for the ride.

Standing at center to feel the earth spin
Looking up at the stars to begin
The ridden the rotten the rising the new
The many the pumpkins the okra the few.

Little all pieces are falling through time
Fall into place in this life that is mine
Cheetahs and okra and brown curly hair,
all will go walking to Scarborough Faire.