THE PHOTOGRAPHER
You are absent
from most of them,
the photos
of me as a child.
It is strange
that only after
your death
do I notice, feel,
your absence
as a presence. The role
of the photographer
is exactly that:
to take and make
pictures
pictures
but not
be in them.
To be there and not
was who you were
in life and it is
who you are now
in death.
The pictures
prove it. They exist
because of you
and yet you are
nowhere to be seen.
Between the adult-me
looking at the images
and the child-me
in them gazing out
is an omniscience
I don't quite understand.
Curious that omnipotent
was the word
you aimed at me
as a boy again and
again.
You did so to tell me
how powerful you were,
to put the fear of god
in me, and to make me
behave. Like a camera
that word caught my
attention
and held it. The
pictures
are your prophecy.
They’re the proof that
you are
still watching.