Black Stocking Ca
James Backstrom
I took a picture of her
in her black beanie
model gaunt, still lovely
with a look of framed hunger
a soldier in a retreating army
her brown eyes even bigger
the bruising hidden
in the black & white
print I made.
“And why would you?” her mother asked me.
“I have taken the cancer
and the dying
and flattened it out,” I tell her,
“the way the doctors never could.”
I removed her from the dangers
of the third and fourth dimensions—
reckless growth and the passage of time,
while the rest of you did nothing.
Next, and this is critical,
I will write down everything
she was to me and to everyone else.
I will keep the tainted gauze that cushioned
her IV and cut out the bad gene
before I rebuild her.
I will read her deep memories
from the bumps and crenulations
of her mind
I will write the code myself to hold her
safe in the cloud,
16