By Yingtong Xia
The sunlight burns me dry, but I wear a hat,
not for a shade or breeze. But
for the phone I’m holding, capturing a skyline
as if painting bottles splattered.
“My footprints will leave but my images will not”
that’s what I insisted, to a friend
for questioning my obsession of taking a pic.
of everything.
Vlogger; blogger; plogger*, what they say I should become,
as my phone already sticks on top of my head
like I was born with it.
Night comes, lights and decorations shout
even louder than stage-light shine.
I start searching for my pocket. Questioning voices ring
again and again
the yarn dangling from my sleeve speaks doubt
among the weight of my pocket;
Sore arms complain in harmony
Symphony of sounds fly around
urging a break.
Maybe I’m wrong
maybe I’m right
maybe both can dance in unison.
I smiled.
The sunlight flew inside the window, again.
I reached for the rectangle object and failed
So I just let the sun bathe me
with its brightest colors.
That was the most beautiful sunset I’ve seen.
*plogger: someone who creates a photo blog (similar to photo-dumping with annotations and drawings)
