Don't Let Me Fade

Cameras are everywhere

I hold one in my hand every day.

A magic camera that takes image after image and frame after frame- We all have it.

So do you.

I use mine.

I take pictures of my children.

Of my daughter’s tiny red tufted pigtails.

Of my son’s cinnamon freckles.

Of his brother’s pool-blue eyes with white lashes.

I take pictures of my father sitting in a chair, facing away from me- like he does.

I take pictures of my brother sitting on floor with his giant feet out in front of him- like he does

 I take pictures of my best friend on the couch, napping with her glasses askew- like she does.

I wonder if people have pictures of me.

Not posed, “look here and smile!” Pictures.

But pictures of me, being me.

Does someone have a picture of me

Sitting at breakfast table with uncombed hair, reading and holding a cup of tea?

Does someone have a picture of me sleeping on the porch swing?

Does someone have a picture of me standing at the sink, bathing my child?

Of me kneeling to tie a small shoe?

Is there a shadowing image of me rocking an infant in a dim bedroom?

A picture of my profile, reflected in a rain spattered window?

Is there a picture somewhere of me kneeling in a flower bed?

Of me laughing and holding a beer?

Is there a picture of me sitting outside a hospital room, disheveled and heartbroken?

Of me singing and driving with the window down and my hair lifted like a sail?

Is there a picture of me, anywhere-

Snapped in secret by someone who says

I love her- I want to keep this image.

If so- I want to see them. I want to see what you see in me.

If not, please take them.

Don’t let me fade away,

With thousands of tiny slices of other people I love in my magic camera that fits in my pocket- Never knowing what you saw in me.

Please

Don’t let me fade away.