She sent me a picture,
Taken in shades of
Brown and beige,
Muted but sharp.
Her back against the
Lines in the floor,
Her bare feet crossed,
Her smile wide and freeing,
Like the horizons she faces.
In her sensing hands,
She holds her flute,
Silver in sound and sight.
The music engraved in it
Struggles against the flatness of
Photo paper.
Her hair short and curly,
The picture of a girl
Who stepped from the 1920’s
Into jeans and painted toenails.
I learned something
From that simple image.
You can’t embrace a photograph,
Or whisper words of wisdom
Into the ear of a paper doll.
