RAINS HEAL, unfinished
The three black & white Polaroids and the one line text walking poem is a/n un/finished piece.
Maybe no more needs to be said or written, but I still find myself wondering what might be heard in/from this Polaroid poem. My struggles today, different than they were thirty-four or fifty-six years ago. What might have been, does not easily slide out of my consciousness, and I find myself now, here, with these three words and a comma — RAINS HEAL, unfinished. Past lives and histories remembered in our bodies, etched in a place that carries a scent not easily forgotten. And as I hold the unfinished image in my hands, the slightly washed out, overexposed tone feels somehow right. Strange how this happens. How the what is, that I didn’t plan for and couldn’t have predicted or known, is as it needs to be — fading but still present.
(This Polaroid text walking poem was photographed/written in Montréal, Québec on May 28, 2025.)