2004-04-08 - 4:50 a.m. the faded photograph sits tucked neatly into a book half attentively read because your attention was on her curled asleep next to you, in bed, or a foot away watching television. it was one of the last photos taken, you standing above her, looking down through the camera, as she laid there on the quilt in the field. your feet framing her shoulders, her shoulders touched by that curly hair, all leading to her eyes that looked beyond the camera, right at you. almost through you. the pages of the book cup, clasp the photograph. you dropped it off at the hour photo lab together, on your way to dinner one night. it was a week before she left. months later you would move. going through the images, you kept that one, quickly shoved it into the spine of a book you knew you'd never have call to open again. previous - next