photo prompts.

[at the adelphi retreat, we were shown slides of photographs and given 5 minutes to find the story in them. i did a lot of experimentation with repetition in these] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
photo1 ~ "we were on our way"

We were on our way. Coming straight from work at the cafe Papa had opened 20 years ago. On our way to a cafe so different from our own, all the way on the other side of town. The white part of town. We'd stay there all night if we had to. 'Til the egg yolks seeped through our hair and the milkshakes stained our starched white uniforms and the jeers haunted us for years to come. We'd stay there all night if we had to.
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photo2 ~ New Orleans home destroyed by Hurricane Katrina.

To you, this is just space. Just stale air floating between rafters. To you, this is just sorrow. Pity. Sadness.
To me, this is not just space. To me, this is everything. This "space" here, this is where Mama's fine china used to sit. She was so proud of it; it was imported all the way from Japan as her wedding present, she used to boast. This "space" here, this is where my brother helped me with my math homework night after night after night. This "space" here, this is where Papa kept his shot glass collection. He was so proud of it; he had bought them in countries all over the world, he used to boast.
This "space" here, this is where I had my first kiss, that cool October night when I was 12 and didn't know what pain was. This "space" here, this is where Grandma took her final breath, when I was 15 and knew very well what pain was.
So yes, this was space, but it was never e m p t y. Not like this.
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photo3 ~ portrait: "i sing because..."

I sing because it's the only thing that keeps me close to my mother. I sing because I remember those sweet, sad songs she used to lull me to sleep when I was a little girl. I sing because I remember her voice, and I sing because I never want to forget.
I sing because I miss her, and because Daddy tells me that I look more like her every day. I sing beccause the choir at church sounds so much less beautiful without her, so empty. I sing because I am so much less beautiful without her, so empty. I sing because I remember, and I sing because I never want to forget.
I sing because my mother's sunflowers still blossom every summer. I sing because I know Daddy cuts a bundle and lays them beside her grave. I sing because he thinks I've never heard him crying and holding her picture late at night when he thought I was asleep. I sing because I think he's never heard me do the same. I sing because I know she is in heaven now, where she belongs. I sing because I remember, and I sing because I never want to forget.