Double Exposure

by Amanda Rhodes

My mom took a picture of me
as a kid. When she had the film developed,
I was both myself
and a horse. I asked her how
she had taken a picture of my thoughts.

I chew the snap pea you placed
in my mouth. I can taste
my future and maybe
the past.

Still, here, with my feet on this bath mat,
I wonder when I will be good enough.

I hear you carrying boxes down the stairs.
I think of pasta and driving at night
with the sunroof open and the radio blaring.

I hope I die
before I forget

On my last day
on Earth, the person I most want
to say goodbye to
is myself.

Amanda Rhodes lives in Hendersonville, North Carolina, where she moved to be closer to family. She has a degree in literature from the UNC Asheville and a degree in architecture from the University of Oregon. She has moved around the country and held a variety of jobs, including research assistant, photographer, and teacher, among others.