Tick, Tick, Snap

Tick, tick, snap. Tick, tick, snap.

My mother stands before me,
hovering within the shadowed fog.
I can't see her features,
but I know it's her.

Someone is taking her photo.

Tick, tick, snap. Tick, tick, snap.

The air pops and fizzes,
like a field radio coming to life.
The fog clears. She disappears.

I shuffle through the fallen photos,
with tremulous hands,
my fingers numb.

Each image writhes,
contorting out of alignment,
rejecting reality-eyes shifting
to lock onto mine.

In the first photo, she reaches out.
A shiver of sound rides the wind,
cracking the surface
sweltering, oppressive, frighteningly close.

"Hear what I am saying, Kiara."

Spiraling, twisting,
lurching-grasping,
searching, chasing.
Nothing. No one.

The photos flicker in my grip.

In the next one
her face is replaced by its mirror image.

"Pay attention. Concentrate."

Tick, tick, snap. Tick, tick, snap.

Another photo drops.
Someone stands behind her.
It shudders, trembles,
shifting-then vanishes into the void.

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