11 of 30. Flip

She showed me a series of pictures

and I smiled in my daze of fuzzy that

2nd grade teachers and dance teachers

surround me with.

Her fingernails long and peeling

dark red paint,

the sound of flipping.

A man standing at the end of a tunnel.

A view of New York streets from a high window.

Close up of a blue eye with pink shadow.

Which one of these feel like your life?

Her voice is the moon.  The dishwasher.

The table cloth has flowers that spin if you look at them

sideways.

I pulled out the picture of a broken bike frame leaning against

a clay wall.  The paper was smooth,

glossy like a photograph,

my hands felt unfamiliar and a piece of my hair

fell against my neck and gave me a chill.

Okay, choose two more.

Her voice was the plastic ring slipping

off the milk carton.

Two more pictures.

The barbed wire

tangled at the top of a fence,

and the tea cups and paint brushes scattered

on the old wooden table.

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About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in 30 in 30, Photography by Amy Leigh Cutler, Poetry, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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