Frith's First by Matt Whitman

Underneath the dark tent
covering your head
you squinted
clumsy in that heat
into the brown box
that peered into the past
as sands whipped across you.

The stiff dryness of Giza
threatened those wet plates of early film
as they fizzed
bubbling over glass.
You gazed ahead toward feats of
buried peoples
headstones worthy of the pharaoh,
graves further entombed.

you waited.
you remained.

A sunken scentless guardian
as your foreground,
burnt in golden sepias 
in the same sands
until well after you rest.

Matt Whitman is currently a graduate student at The University of Alabama. He is 22.

Bay Laurel  /  Volume 1, Issue 1  /  Autumn 2012