Poem
What the Photographs Would Have Shown
A poem written during research for a memoir about a family habit of burning photographs after every death.
A wedding, presumably. A garland, presumably.
Presumably a good day, since most wedding days are,
in the version that gets kept, if it gets kept at all.
The ledger says: sitting for two, 4 p.m., paid in full.
It does not say what they wore.
It does not say if anyone smiled on command
or if the smile, like most, arrived on its own, unasked.
I have only the ledger's plain arithmetic:
a date, a fee, a name I recognise.
Everything else I am required to imagine,
which is its own kind of burning, done slowly, by me.
Note: Drafted from a photo studio ledger that lists sittings for which no prints survive.
More from Poetry
- Inventory of a Locked Room — Ila Bhaduri
- The Driver Remembers Differently — Aakash Dev Sharma
- Fourth Floor, No Lift — Priyanka Oberoi