Poetry Corner: Polaroid

by Jim Farfaglia



I felt like royalty, owning one.


Like I alone had been chosen to decide

what was best forgotten

and what should instantly remain.


So I’d raise that black box with both hands,

look out at the world with a good eye

and press…


then out would slide a square of darkness,

all murky and mysterious,

untouchable ‘til it dried.


And I’d watch the world come into focus,

witnessing a moment already gone by,

believing it was all in my hands to capture it.

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