Before we broke for good,
we tried to explain to the local
volunteering to take our picture
by waving our desperate hands
and moving our foreign tongues
that his finger was over our lens,
and that we were passing through,
and that we weren’t from this place,
and that we didn’t share a language,
and that he had to keep the camera still,
and even before this, we weren’t in focus,
and we were always blurring in the frames.
About the Author
Aaron Sandberg resides in Illinois where he teaches. His recent poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Sporklet, Asimov’s Science Fiction, Abridged, Unbroken, The Racket Journal, Writers Resist, Neologism Poetry Journal, Yes, Poetry, perhappened mag, and elsewhere. You might find him—though socially-distant—on Instagram @aarondsandberg.