Photo Synthesis

Mother I am your blueprint bleeding purple
irises into an spirit bowl of moss.
Your lined face melding defining mine.
As we look into the camera our eyes frame
a portrait of our ancestors looking back in
time.
The shutter clicks flashing us blind and I
see my ancestors holding mirrors before my
face, offering me no wisdom.

We are a race, a line of voids coming to be
out of a thousand fragments of mirrors.
Cracks and missing parts, warps and chips,
reflections only partial, reflect us.
A thousand pieces wavering spaces in
between; inner flaws, shards, splinters
grinding the edges of our souls defined by gash.

We are synthesized.


Carol Brown ©