Picture of Mama on the Cable Car

Caught in a real smile, she'd thought
chance was not in her corner,
but there she was  tweed jacket,
poofed-up hair, ever-present red nails,
in San Francisco stepping to the street.

It had taken all of her fifty-five years,
everything up till then a gamble,
not many wins, bearable losses,
a kind of non-streek.

If she'd been in on the joke, understood
there wasn't much time left,
would she have gone back to Vegas?

She was dying even then, in increments,
cell by cell by cell, but this isn't about that.

This is about snap-shot shoe-drop seconds
when a dream you put aside comes true,
happens right then and is so right,
such a surprise, a friend takes a picture,
a real picture, the kind of photograph
strangers pick up to examine because,
not knowing why, they have to.

It's easy to let opportunities pass
when they are too much of themselves,
like inconceivable sculpture
buried in stone blocks.

Half-blind and single-minded,
we cower in the familiar, recoil
when a fresh idea slaps us hard.

You can't plan for this,
there are no shoulds or ifs.
Choices come and go so fast
it's almost out of our hands.  Almost.

When you smiled at me during lunch,
I thought of Mama, knowing
this was an extraordinary moment
My camera was in my suitcase.

I didn't take the picture,
I wish I had.

(c)Shann Palmer     2009

from Dashboard Fire

FlashPaperPublications, Richmond, VA