Relic Photographic

There are days, more numerous than I would ever like to admit, that are spent rehearsing my failures. I number and name every crack that splices through the walls of this house, they abound and multiply. A slow and quiet breath of protest against this pressure building- the constant and nagging lie that the things left undone somehow define my womanhood, my motherhood. My bones sink like quicksand when you begin to trace the lines of my face, the shape of a tender and beating heart in my chest.

So instead I sit on the rocky beach, close my eyes and lean into the warm arm of the sun. I wonder how old you were the first moment you dipped your toes into the river silt and sand? When I open my eyes you’ve thrown off your shirt and are parading the treasures you have scavenged. You are grinning at me, and I know that means that you have welcomed me to lift my lens and remember you, in this moment, boldly flying your flag.