Faces, superimposed onto sheets of stark white,
are suspended in but one brief moment in time.
Faces, captured by the lens of a camera,
leave the observers to their imaginations –
to conjure their own stories from the invisible
thoughts that lie behind the eyes.
Avery’s head, under the cover of blonde locks,
lies cradled in the fuzzy, fawn-colored fur
of his stuffed guardian – Leo the Lion.
His left thumb has disappeared behind his
stilled, moist lips, while his first finger looks
as if it is holding up his nose.
There’s not a flutter left in his fallen lids.
Mommy always told me I could dream in peace –
Leo would be there to protect me!
Bethany sits in the tall verdure at the waters’ edge,
bathing in the gilded ardor of the sun.
Head tilted back, you can almost feel the tender breeze,
as her auburn curls dance away from her face.
Eyes softly closed, the subtle, serene smile across her
silken lips is permanently held on the page.
Ginette sits with her head gently bowed with
a slight pucker emerging from her lips –
brown eyes focused as if held in a trance.
Eyes, framed by glasses with walnut-brown rims,
address her deft hands – hands with nimble fingers curled around the turquoise-blue knitting needles.
Draped over her forefinger is a single strand of
raspberry red yarn that twines and loops in and around,
over and under, on its way to a completed work of beauty.
Holly’s hazel eyes appear as if they are bathing
in a clear, sparkling pond, as a single tear
sits frozen on the crest of her cheek.
A dark soil stained hand shields Kenneth’s blue eyes
from the glare of the late afternoon sun,
while crow’s feet flare out from the corners of
those squinting eyes like the rays from a distant star.
A mustache resembles a roof over his upper lip,
while stubbles of dark hair, speckled with gray,
immerge from his gaunt, tanned face.
And there, standing tall are rows and rows and rows
of emerald green stalks of Iowa corn reflected
in the windows of his glasses.
The shadows and shades of grays and blacks
seem to immerse themselves into every crevice
and fold of Takota’s chiseled features.
Jowls now sag from a sculptured jaw,
while vertical engravings appear to
direct you to his narrowed lips.
His long, thinned hair, in various shades of gray,
hangs in disarray.
Yet, under those wizened lids,
a smiling twinkle in those steel gray eyes
captures and holds your attention.
Lift your camera and CLICK –
What stories might its portraits tell?