Looking through some photographs I found inside a drawer
I was taken by a photograph of you.
— the prophet jackson browne
She watches me go by every seven and a half minutes on the arts center loop. A neutral expression, sitting quitely, gazing impassively at the camera.
How long ago was the photo taken? Is she still alive? Does she live around here now? Would I recognize her behind the obligatory masks that cloak us these days?
I’m not sure about photographs. Maybe the Yaquis are right that they steal your soul. How odd for such a small life to be immortalized on a wall on a street in downtown Mesa. I suppose immortality is where you find it.
I take a photograph of the photograph despite the spiritual and copyright implications. Life goes on.
I hope she’s OK. I hope she hasn’t lost her soul. I’m happy to have her watching over me.