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What the Photographer Saw MAG
“We’re on a tight schedule,”
the woman warned,
her sharply lined lips
emphasizing each syllable
with polite malice
as the photographer scurried to
rearrange the equipment once again,
frantically trying to find an angle
that did justice to the funds spent on
the gossamer layers of lace and satin,
searching for a lighting that could
breathe life onto the shiny doll shoes
and the miniature designer handbag.
Then, just as the impatient tapping
of Prada heels reached near hum,
Just as it began to seem as though
the tiny diamond earrings
would remain forever stone,
the photographer noticed the face,
buried deep within the pastel-colored puff,
and snapped a picture of the child.
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