When I Travel

This week's poem, as always, with a touch of Aphantasia.

When I Travel

I have to remind myself
to take pictures,
that I have a camera
with me 
in my pocket. 
nearly always.   

Only rarely do I
take one or two 
so that it 
will remember
what I cannot.

I will only remember
crowds of people
speaking in tongues
and taxis honking in concert
and that I held your hand.

Rising above all this
swooping up and silent
well planted by solid corners
the great tower.

The one I remember
from old snapshots 
but will never
call back to mind
just as I
will never see
this again.

---

I had a clear plastic display cube on my first desk that held 6 of my favorite photographs. Square black and whites, shot on an old box camera. It’s gone now, lost or shattered in a move. The best photo was a look upward at the sharp shadows of buttresses on the side of Notre Dame. I remember about it without the help of a mind’s eye, but not very well.

Eiffel’s tower must have been on one face of the cube.

---

Thanks for reading. I’d love to read your comments.

—Alex

My initial post has more about Aphantasia. Have a look, and the poems might make more sense.

Glimpses at the Dark