I

Once,

The shutter click was a crescendo to anticipation.

A shaking body bared itself on a fainting couch

In conscious poses.

She had not yet learned the coquettish gazes

Or even the tiniest self-satisfied smirk.

She was only timid and bare.

She would peer over his shoulder in the darkroom and

Watch her fragile form blossom from dark plumes that

Rushed to form her outline

II

She was trembling

She told her husband she was to be at lunch with a friend

She stepped into his parlor and shyly peeled her gown

From her body in slow

Measured movements.

Goosebumps pervaded her skin in waves

That grew closer together with each length of string

She pulled

From her corset

III

In her mind, she pulled the camera apart

She stared with the lens

She shattered it and pulled out the film to lay waste in the afternoon light

She could no longer hear the periodic snapping of the shutter.

IV

She kept these

Hidden in a book or

Under her pillow or

Brazenly in her jewelry box.

Once in a very great while,

She gave one to her husband, and he too would stare.

Once, she was a harlot. But once in a

Great while, she was a goddess.

V

They mostly lay dormant in her household

Hers had always been the most

Beautifully abhorred. Her shamelessness

Thrilled her, and most mornings she would

Turn and

Turn in the mirror, dancing to the beat of her

Own undone flesh,

Searching every corner of her body for some

Previously undiscovered self-love

Which she would somehow

Always find.

VI

She could no longer content herself with the mirror

So she bought her husband

A camera and some

Film.

VII

It lay dormant in a heap in the closet

A gift not understood

But fugaciously appreciated. The shutter remained

Closed

Never to beckon all the corners of her body.

Not even once.

VIII

By now, she had neglected the mirror

But still, she couldn’t help herself, and one day

She picked up the camera herself.

Again, she stood in front of the mirror

But this time only to frame her body

In the pictures

They may have been of poor quality

But she didn’t mind.

She kept the undeveloped film in an old change purse beside her bed.

She didn’t need to see them.

The idea was

Enough.

IX

Now, she recalls

One time, he had stumbled onto the film

Undeveloped, still clasped inside that dusty change purse.

“Do you remember what these pictures are from?”

X

“Plants, flowers…little things,”

She replied from the other room

With brightened eyes.