smile, rosemary

one

her

regardless of the constant

mental pleading i send my

wonderful mother, she

pushes me in the cramped

library room, waving excitedly

there are roughly ten people,

all holding polaroid or normal

devices used to capture moments,

their ages vary between ten and twenty

"for fuck's sake," i mumble,

sitting in the corner of the room.

a beautiful woman begins to

speak about herself and about

how she traveled the world,

taking pictures of everything

the old camera sits in my lap,

staring at me. i have the urge

to smash it against the wall,

but if i do, i'll get punished even more

you see,

my mother caught me smoking

behind the house two nights ago,

and decided that this class

would be my excruciating reward.

"hi, i'm south! you're rosemary, right?"

i turn to a boy with gray eyes that

stand out, against his dark skin

and a sea of black curls

gathered in several braids

-

him

"uh-that's me," she answers

and her voice is as deep as the

hum of the rain on a late night

"how do you know my name," she asks.

"oh!" i chuckle, "i read the sign-up sheet."

"ah."

"you have a nice name, it's a flower, you know?"

"thanks a lot for the information," she snorts.

and she looks away,

putting her hand on the side

of her smooth, milky face,

violet eyes boring into the shoes,

of mrs. blue, our teacher

i wonder if she would look

as breath-capturing on a

p i c t u r e.