Faith is hard to come by

Drought. Are you there? 2015, iphone4, Shea Love.

Chronicling Time

postcard #15:

i know you love[d] postcards

it’s been a little while since i wrote you a letter and isn’t this card cute?

i also know you’re very sick now, Johnie told me in his last postcard

but i have spilled too many tears recently and forgot to throw salt over my left shoulder

Waking up in his bed morning #5:

i slept here

and wove the sheets into stories

when i woke up this morning

i knew i had sent the last postcard you would ever read in my handwriting

the words were about me

and they were hollow 

like i was 6 again and biking in a wet dark tunnel

and wanted to hear my own voice

i knew i had sent the last postcard you would ever read

and i sat up in his bed feeling wrong

but faith is hard to come by so i listened to the stories i told myself
that you were still there

college email #456:

you told me i needed to show up on timeand i could see your fragile fingers typing each letter on your laptop illuminated by one of the antique lamps in your antique house

you told me i needed to show up on time

but what you meant is that i needed to show up better

and that email was filled with so much truth and care

that it hurt

i wonder how many cyanotypes you made 

until you learned how to make them show up better

i hope that i am one of them

letter #16:

i borrowed a few minutes

and wrote you a new letter

it had things like soft clouds, dust bunnies, and wind on the front

it said that they were examples for how to be gentle with yourself

by the time i had handed over the five dollars and 50 cents across the counter

i knew i had bought it for me

and i had already written you the last postcard you would ever read

and i waited until you owed all your time back

so that the letter could be closure

Sleeping in my new place night #1 and getting a text about your death:

i felt dry

it had been a few days since i had sent the last letter

and it had felt so good to lick the back of the envelope

to seal it and put a martín ramírez stamp on the front

i had learned about him in your class

i felt dry 

like the saliva i had used for the letter was the last of my moisture

i waited until you were gone to send the letter

so that it could be closure

it wasn’t

. . .

Drought (#3) 2012, Tea-toned Cyanotype on Masa Mulberry Paper.
Courtesy portraitsocietygallery.com.