Thursday, June 6, 2013



Every year, more of some things,
less of others. The body saying
no, I don’t need this piece now,
or hunger, capturing flags, gulping
them down. The thumbnail taken by
the car door does not grow back
when you expect it, and when it
does, its face is warped, mottled.
Inside, a record, a ledger. A being
to keep track. If you have heard
the sound of your eyelid opening,
you have actually heard the nib
of a pen scratching out how it all
gets spent.

Further Reading: 
What a Camera Means to a Person's Life


  1. are incredible Hannah! Thank you for saying that less of some and more of others. I blinked a few times to see if I could hear it. I think my cats hear my blinks...Love love love this in a deep way. : )

  2. Oh, this needs more than one reading, but I'm pretty sure it's a winner, a big winner.


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