There is a picture of her

There is a picture of her

I am trying to find,

sifting through all of them here

and unable to come across the one 

which needs finding.

"There are so few of them of me,"

she says,

"because I am the only one

who takes pictures."

This is true,

the rest of us have missed

what needs preserving the most;

our daily moments, our

occasional celebrations and

mad foolishness.

She is occasionally there,

with a boy, or a snake, or a cat

because it seemed like

a good picture at the time

so she'd have one of us

take it.

This is good

and somehow all wrong

at the same time.

We should be able to see her

in every incredible moment

of her day and night,

from the simplest ministration

to the most joyous transformation.

In full flight

and at contemplative rest.

There should be a camera

in every room. We should

learn to recognize what

really needs to be

remembered here.

Knowing this, we should capture her at every

possible moment and,

if there is an elusive smile,

we must snatch that,

as well!

An album of her,

(smothered in boys,

wrapped around satin pillows),

should rest on shelves

in every room. It should be

that easy to find her,

she should be

on every page.

Okay,

I have finally found

the picture of her

I was looking for.

It is a picture like all the pictures

just described to you.

She did not know,

there is no posing in it.

She is asleep

on my lap.

Her hair

is a veil.