Paramnesia (Old Photograph of One Hand Holding a Rose) & Looking at Autumn by Mariska Karasz, Hand Woven Mixed Fiber
Debbra Palmer
Paramnesia
(Old Photograph of One Hand Holding a Rose)
The woman loves the man taking the photo—
loves how proud
he is
of her hand
for her, as if
she could never see
for herself.
He loved how her hand would not stay beautiful
forever, and so he thought
to take the photo. And that,
as the story will go, is what love is.
It’s all rot now. The woman, the man and the rose.
If this seems unfair, we have misunderstood.
A photo simply outlasts its subject, her
knuckle and bone, nail beds, cuticles—
and the rest of her too, forgotten, like
rabbits forget their skins, children,
their manners. Fish forget their throats.
Looking at ‘Autumn’ by Mariska Karasz, Hand Woven Mixed Fiber
She mapped it out with hemp and horsehair
to outsmart the fascists. How
could she have known they’d return? I guess,
if your house burns down
and you still remember
the world wars, down
to the very stone, you might have something to say.
Say the house is still on fire
burning with pandemic and rage,
and the fascists run the show
from the inside now.
She dyed the silks and fibers.
There were fields once. And farmers, and trees
and all of the walls joining
one village to another
were low, and so pretty.
Debbra Palmer is an Idaho-born, Oregon-raised dog mom and wife. At various times, she has been a barista, long-distance telephone operator, uniform fitter, book seller, documentary filmmaker, house cleaner, radio show researcher, amateur metal detectorist, and corporate communications professional. Her poems have appeared in Sixfold, BLOOM Magazine, Calyx Journal, CHEST Journal, Ellipsis, Pretty Owl Poetry and The Portland Review. She will begin pursuing an MFA at Pacific University this winter. She lives in Boise, Idaho.