His impatience with me is sometimes
notable as I wander off taking
photographs—finding worlds around
inanimate objects where he sees none.
Our point of views drastically askew,
his alive in the observation of the human
condition, mine static in the imprints
left behind by man and woman.
The vestibule of our sights
is seen from above and below
with our ages dictating the equations
of time and amassed energy.
There is a pinched tone in his voice,
biting tongue at me
always falling behind.
Aleathia Drehmer 2009
Published by Scythe Literary Journal 1/10