her
regardless of the constant
mental pleading i send my
wonderful mother, she
pushes me in the cramped
library room, waving excitedly
there are roughly ten people,
all holding polaroid or normal
devices used to capture moments,
their ages vary between ten and twenty
"for fuck's sake," i mumble,
sitting in the corner of the room.
a beautiful woman begins to
speak about herself and about
how she traveled the world,
taking pictures of everything
the old camera sits in my lap,
staring at me. i have the urge
to smash it against the wall,
but if i do, i'll get punished even more
you see,
my mother caught me smoking
behind the house two nights ago,
and decided that this class
would be my excruciating reward.
"hi, i'm south! you're rosemary, right?"
i turn to a boy with gray eyes that
stand out, against his dark skin
and a sea of black curls
gathered in several braids
-
him
"uh-that's me," she answers
and her voice is as deep as the
hum of the rain on a late night
"how do you know my name," she asks.
"oh!" i chuckle, "i read the sign-up sheet."
"ah."
"you have a nice name, it's a flower, you know?"
"thanks a lot for the information," she snorts.
and she looks away,
putting her hand on the side
of her smooth, milky face,
violet eyes boring into the shoes,
of mrs. blue, our teacher
i wonder if she would look
as breath-capturing on a
p i c t u r e.
YOU ARE READING
smile, rosemary
Poetrystory #2 of the flowery compass series - he wants to capture every part of her, she wants to break his camera - cover by @crookednights