A chance to look inward

would be the positive spin on all of this.

But for now I’m tired

and only remembering

when curbsides were not challenges

and escalators not wretched monoliths

awaiting my downfall.

Recalling the days when

my camera delivered sharply-focused studies

of ones dear to me

as well as strangers at bus stops,

instead of a relic lying in storage,

awaiting other hands,

other eyes.


There was a time when

the details were not lost to me.

My take on the world was undistorted:

some would say acute.

Uncovering the subtleties

was something I did rather well.


It seems now

I must imprint these images

in other ways.


And I will get there.

Learn how.

I must.

Just not today.

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Writer and Poet

Tricia McCallum profile

Tricia McCallum

Always be a poet. Even in prose.
Charles Baudelaire.

In essence I am a storyteller who writes poems. Put simply, I write the poems I want to read.[…]

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