clicking through a friend’s blog tonight i ran across this poem that makes more sense now than it would have to me, back in 2009, when r thought to share it. i recently bought a collection by adrienne rich. i chose it because i didn’t own a collection by her yet, but also largely for the author photo on the back: she is beautiful.

For an Album, by Adrienne Rich
Our story isn’t a file of photographs
faces laughing under green leaves
or sunlight doorways, on the verge of driving
away, our story is not about women
victoriously perched on the one
sunny day of the conference,
nor lovers displaying love.
Our story is of moments
when even slow motion moved too fast
for the shutter of the camera:
words that blew our lives apart, like so,
eyes that cut and caught each other,
mime of the operating room
where gas and knives quote each other
moments before the telephone
starts ringing: our story is
how still we stood,
how fast.
photo from here.

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