Friday Night (My poem :)

Mary Kate had told us the first day of the trip that last year she had a poem done by a man outside a bar. We all assumed that it was a silly poem written by a squater trying to make a little cash. We were completely wrong. She told us that the poem was so amazing that it was read to the entire Crossroads group at the end of the trip. I'm not great at poetry, I can't write it but I'm beginning to appreciate it more and more. So I was hoping to see him out this year and have the opportunity to have a poem written for me.

The last night of the trip three writers were sitting outside of d.b.a.'s. Mary Kate pointed out the man that has written a poem for her last year and he remembered her. At the end of the night I sat down next to him and he asked for me to just tell him some things about myself. He assumed I was there to party since I had Mardi Gras beads on and had a drink in my hand. I told him it wasn't the case. The Mardi Gras beads were given to me by a New Orleans native and I was in nola for the Crossroads trip. He asked me what made me want to go on the trip and I said I've always wanted to make the trip to Nola since Katrina and help in anyway I could. I told him that I was part of the photo team, taking pictures of families that lost everything. I also told him since my father passed away I've wanted to do more to give back, to recognize that life is short and that it felt good to be a part of something way bigger than myself. He told me he was excited to write my poem and that he had a great idea for it.


Here is the poem he wrote me; if you read between the lines, it's deep...

"So many things to be seen in the sights of a camera

You might think you have captured it all, but you certainly know that one square frame really reveals so little

Eyes like new lenses and memory like a kind of indelible film;

these understand the small betrayal that one frozen frame represents

It's just not possible to capture it all.

But it will be equally impossible to ignore the tiny truths recorded like fleeting heartbeats."