Time, present and past. Frozen moments, remembered and forgotten. Beauty, ordinary and extraordinary.
Photographic power reveals in light and dark what my mother looked like as a young girl, or my father as he welcomed me to the world, or myself as I smiled between brother and sister whose faces are only visible in black and white now.
Lost faces, missed warmth, people linger in shades, lines, and shapes, like hieroglyphics of the past.
Copyright 2020 Brenda Davis Harsham
Notes: For World Photography Day today, I offer this ode, in gratitude for how concrete my memories are, of times past.
All the flowers, poems
cards, and teddy bears
left on sidewalks
after someone died
the painful void
where a person
can ease the pain.
Each day I’m drawn in
I mourn the old way
I shopped, the old way
I chatted with co-workers,
gossiped as Yelena cut my hair,
or watched my children walk,
with heavy schoolbooks. Continue reading →
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Notes: As our confinement lengthens, and the virus victim numbers climb, we are in a world scarier than fiction. But no matter how off-kilter the world may seem, humans have weathered worse in the past. We all descend from those who survived the 1918 flu, the great depression, world wars, famines, and recessions. We will make it through this, too.