HOLD STILL, SMILE!

She’d grown up watching her Mother

load the box camera,

holding it at her waist,

looking down into the square glass.

saying “Hold still!”

But that didn’t mean much, then,

to a curious twisty three year

being perched on a lawn chair

or on the running board of an old Hudson.

Her first weekend vacation was to

the famous Elder Hotel at Indian Springs.

Her Mother had invited a vacationing girl

to wade in the Springs, too,

had told them to stuff their dresses

into their panties so they wouldn’t get wet.

“Hold still, smile!”

There were beach photos with sunglasses,

rubber beach shoes,

her first kiddie ride.

There were photos of

Atlanta’s deep snow of 1940.

The only photo of her Grandma
and Joann, who lived next door.

And one summer a photo of the new

tricycle she was so afraid of.

She was posed in profile in pajamas,

holding a worn and scratchy 

teddy bear that wasn’t cuddly at all,

as it was losing the straw inside. 

Her Mother had set up a 

rubber figure of Popeye, too

to catch the profile of both.

“Hold still.”

More and more “Hold Still!”

became “Smile!”

Smile for the camera.

Smile to make Mother happy.

She learned to stage her own photos.

posing herself and her girl friends,

re-enacting raising the flag on Iwo Jima.

with the backyard clothesline pole.

She kept all her photos in an album.

It was the most precious thing in her life. 

Photos were a reminder she existed. 

Hold still! Smile!

stay tuned . . .

~ ~ ~