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<\/strong><\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n Faces, superimposed onto sheets of stark white, Faces, captured by the lens of a camera, CLICK – <\/p>\n Avery’s head, under the cover of blonde locks, His left thumb has disappeared behind his There’s not a flutter left in his fallen lids. CLICK – <\/p>\n Bethany sits in the tall verdure at the waters’ edge, Head tilted back, you can almost feel the tender breeze, Eyes softly closed, the subtle, serene smile across her CLICK –<\/p>\n Ginette sits with her head gently bowed with Eyes, framed by glasses with walnut-brown rims, Draped over her forefinger is a single strand of CLICK – <\/p>\n Holly’s hazel eyes appear as if they are bathing CLICK –<\/p>\n A dark soil stained hand shields Kenneth’s blue eyes A mustache resembles a roof over his upper lip, And there, standing tall are rows and rows and rows CLICK –<\/p>\n The shadows and shades of grays and blacks Jowls now sag from a sculptured jaw, Yet, under those wizened lids, Lift your camera and CLICK – by Marla Meier
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are suspended in but one brief moment in time. <\/p>\n
leave the observers to their imaginations –
to conjure their own stories from the invisible
thoughts that lie behind the eyes.<\/p>\n
lies cradled in the fuzzy, fawn-colored fur
of his stuffed guardian – Leo the Lion.<\/p>\n
stilled, moist lips, while his first finger looks
as if it is holding up his nose.<\/p>\n
Mommy always told me I could dream in peace –
Leo would be there to protect me!<\/p>\n
bathing in the gilded ardor of the sun.<\/p>\n
as her auburn curls dance away from her face.<\/p>\n
silken lips is permanently held on the page.<\/p>\n
a slight pucker emerging from her lips –
brown eyes focused as if held in a trance.<\/p>\n
address her deft hands – hands with nimble fingers curled around the turquoise-blue knitting needles.<\/p>\n
raspberry red yarn that twines and loops in and around,
over and under, on its way to a completed work of beauty.<\/p>\n
in a clear, sparkling pond, as a single tear
sits frozen on the crest of her cheek.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
while stubbles of dark hair, speckled with gray,
immerge from his gaunt, tanned face.<\/p>\n
of emerald green stalks of Iowa corn reflected
in the windows of his glasses.<\/p>\n
seem to immerse themselves into every crevice
and fold of Takota’s chiseled features.<\/p>\n
while vertical engravings appear to
direct you to his narrowed lips.
His long, thinned hair, in various shades of gray,
hangs in disarray.<\/p>\n
a smiling twinkle in those steel gray eyes
captures and holds your attention.<\/p>\n
What stories might its portraits tell?<\/p>\n
\nProse: \u00a9 2007 Marla Meier. All rights reserved.
\nPhoto: \u00a9 2007 Michael Fulks and Graphic Design by Marla Meier. All rights reserved.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"