camera smile

Sometimes I look at pictures of you and I imagine what other people see: coy, shy, sexy smiles and the fierce eyes of a powerful femme. Sometimes I try to imagine what I could see if I didn't know truths and histories and what it means to smile for the camera no matter what rotting mess is in my heart.

I've read what you've written. I've heard you cry on the phone. I know you know my secrets. I'm not afraid of you -- any more than I'm afraid of everyone.

I look at pictures of you and I see a six, nine, fourteen year old taught to seduce some man who doesn't understand the definition of father or uncle or whatever job he couldn't perform. So he taught you to perform and jump through the ridiculous hoops your mother couldn't clear. And you smiled through it all, with eight-year-old seductress eyes and a toothy grin that makes me want to hear you call me Daddy.

My father taught me how to forget my childhood. Why can't I forget yours?