Thursday, 30 October 2008

Found faces

He fell out of the back of the library book as she opened it up on the train home. A strange photo of a photo, showing a section of slightly tatty wallpaper and a cornered, accidental Cheese plant, as well as the real subject. A drawing of a boy. Charcoal or pencil, hard to tell. He is looking up, pleading. He holds an empty glass.

In her pocket, picked up from when she had her sandwich on the beach at lunchtime, there's another face. This one shows the profile of a man whistling. He's proud. Carefree. Optimistic. He has a strong neck, neat hair. In his head, there is a space, marked by a pale area on the dark grey blue stone, that reminds her of a view looking out from inside a sea cave, onto calm seas and empty skies. Across this sea and sky, lies a real frond of purple seaweed. Pressed. Adhered for now. 

It's only when the photo lands on her coat sleeve, that she remembers about the stone. She puts the book down, and holds a found face in each hand, all the way home.