Photo & Poem: When the Sunset is Through With Me

 

The sunset plays me. In the heat of the day,

colors are flattened by glare and searchlight

bluntness, work taken on, tasks finished.

But when the sunset looks at me sideways,

flirting through the clouds, changing expression

in each instant, I come stumbling out on the

porch, fumbling with my glasses, my camera,

knowing before I’m focused that the sky is

teasing me. It’ll look small in the viewfinder,

flat in the photo, but scurry, I do, because I

must keep the color. To the west, such sweet

pastel tones, his whispering conversation thrills

each prairie grass, the scars on my skin go smooth,

as feather arm-hairs lift, but I sense something

bearing down fast behind me. Pulling my eyes

from the syrupy horizon back to the east,

dominating as loud and brash as a marching band,

purple and orange, trumpets and drums, slash

the sky. Devoured by color in light; when the

sunset is through with me, there will be nothing left.

…

Anna Blake at Infinity Farm

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