Jul/Aug 2003 • Poetry |
Zones of Gray
I focused my graflex, mounted steady
on a tripod as she rolled her eyes,
hugged dimpled knees, pensive
at Bridal Veil Falls, posed in profile
under tall trees.I hung the photo on the wall,
my former wife, exposed.
Yosemite. Black and white film.
Fiber-based, acid free paper. Archival.Note the background textures: carved barks
of ponderosa, giant sequoia shadows; patterns
reflected in a mirrored lake: clouds, heavy oak limbs,
contrasts; varied gray tones.We photographers call them zones.
Vivid color excited her, quickened her heart,
melted all rational senses. Perhaps an enzyme
gushed, and she fled with a pastel painter,
left me the child.I shifted my path, discovered power
over color wavelengths and altered
my daughter's perception. To ensure
her protection, I snipped off a mere slice
of spectrum, withheld malevolent hues.Irreversible, the girl will remain achromatic.
She is now grown , delights in each gray zone,
marvels at highlights, at scale. In shadows,
entranced, she seeks every detail.