Sure Shot Danny

Sure Shot Danny

photography

she threw her hair back like she was being hunted in the woods. a flash of light. she had made direct eye contact earlier, as if she had taken her fingernails and dug them into my skin. does she know she is being hunted? do i? do the ones that hunt us know that we travel in packs? clever girl. clever girl. she is in a short skirt throwing her hair into the sound of the music. she is on her knees. isn't this what you wanted, a cute rock and roll girl on her knees? did you ever realize she wanted this, too? nervously naked, she looks away from the camera. she wants to be seen, and it seems she is sad that there is only a camera here to look. she stands in melancholy autumn sunshine in front of the old city which reflected back from a new home for the opera. she feels between worlds, realizing that this is her home, realizing that she is to step into her future soon at least hopefully, and that means getting pretty, putting on a jacket, and being demure like you are the kind of girl that goes to the opera, a gift to your community, like a rockefeller. i don't feel like a rockefeller, and i'm scared that i will lose myself to the system. i pray that the path with present itself, a song to be sung. she dances in the air of her garden. impending joy of another year, another spring, realization ongoing.
she smiles across the table from me. i can hear the faint sound of a sports game and the calming smell of cooked mozeralla cheese as like an old blanket of comfort. it's hot and muggy, like an oppressive exhaustion hangs in the hair, no tell tale heart just low hum. she smiles across the table from me. she is not alone and neither am i. the sky is full of drying lightning. it is 2 am the evening before the pride parade. tomorrow, she will get her mother into an uber to bring her down to the parade. her dress is bright rainbow, and an emblem has been sewn into the back saying BE NOT AFRAID. she stands in front of the st. paul cathedral, the same cathedral that hid years upon years of abuse. be not afraid, the sun will come out tomorrow, they will not erase us and we will not go quietly. jumping out of her skin like a ghost in the alley. there is a puppy girl that stands in front of a gigantic intimidating picture of a dog at full salute on a brick wall. she looks angry as she spins to react. she looks confidently back at you in the forest as the sun goes down. she will later see this image and realize the depth of her power in a way she has yet to realize. i know.
Sappho and Erinna in a Garden at Mytilenes, or maybe hot girl breakfast. you can tell that both know they are being watched by your eye, sometime in the future. a flash casts their shadow across the wall turning the cosy little quiet sunday morning porch into a stage for you to see. sappho and erinna in a garden. you are the blackbird and we are the dove. there is a dolls head atop of a stack of televisons. you can smell cigarette smoke on the breeze, this is our space, safe for us, full of guitars and girls. she looks exhausted, holding a phone as she melts into the night beneath a full moon. she is frozen against the graffiti of an eye. her lips open because she knows she is beautiful, she looks at you like she is bothered but if you know this girl, you know that means she wants to be held. is she hiding, or is she making a place that remains safe? can you remain safe when you also remain alone? that day it was new, a children's movie playing in the background. discovering what the garden will grow.
she is covered in dirt from her garden where it is a hot spring day. she sits in front of a tiny piano with stacks of comic books, bibles, buddhist mantras piled upon it. her roses look down in her paintings behind her as an old speaker from the 80s peaks out behind her old worn flannel. she is closing her eyes because being in front of a camera is a new thing for her, she is learning how the light hits her face. she is letting you see her. she is covered in dirt from her garden, surrounded by all the seeds of the potential things she loves. a school teacher raps in front of the guitar player from one of his favorite bands. both are happy, both can't believe how special this moment is, and both are keenly aware that this bar will close with all of its history, like a hurricane took maconda from the earth. she is a blur of coming and going he is a proud midwestern man, sitting in a lawn chair surrounded by his dogs, a cigarette, and a fresh new game of corn hole. she is beautiful in front of a dried rose. the rose was the rose she would get for herself to say thank you for becoming alive after all these years, thank you for finally listening to that small voice inside yourself saying it has to be better, you deserve better than this, you can do anything you allow yourself to do. she is beautiful, after all these years.