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In my hand, a photograph—a woman’s face—like Norma before becoming Marilyn. 

Windy whispers are in my ears—the paper trembles—that day was fresh and painful. 

I watched her proud face—a photograph’s illusion—and wondered how

Little was needed to make your youth eternal—some sheets, chemicals and—

Light. The 50s photograph—my distant relative—a great grandaunt, but still my age. 

Never think—the long departed don’t have a right—to be young or to be wrong— 

Of them we know little. Yet, I will rise one day—not from the bed but from 

The grave—and I will see them all—the young folks from my family photographs. 

Do you remember—you, the risen—how it hurts to smile—when a cameraman

Insists? You do your best—you stretch your lips—you stand upright—a moment and

Eternity comes—first, outside—but then, no longer is it around you—it’s in your veins.

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Soe Frost is an emerging poet and a writer living in Oxfordshire. Her first poems have been recently published by Dream Catcher and The Dark Horse. She also self-published a collection of short stories and novellas, The New Day, in her native language. She is passionate about her historical research and medieval manuscript studies and enjoys nature walks and painting still lives.