Disposable Cameras

By Sarah Behn

He glues pom-poms to a magazine page

While I draw gardens on my hand in deep blue sharpie

I can feel the ink, the toxins soaking down to my veins

As the sun illuminates the decomposed ash floating, falling

And I pick open a scab that will probably scar overc

I tell him that taking pictures with a disposable camera is wasteful

It’s loud in this cafe, I imagine

Several people around us are mimicking this conversation

Waste, Art, Memory

What else is there to discuss?

It scares me- I don’t eat as much as I used to

Half of my meal sits on my plate, scrambled and untouched

My family used to call me a bottomless pit

Used to look into my mouth like Krishna

It scares me- I’m not a God,

Not a Kodak, or a Kodak moment

I keep time in fractures, in refractions

What else is there to discuss?

California is burning, don’t you know?