Your Photo by Kirsty A. Niven

Your Photo
​
I saw your photo today –
a face I have tried to forget.
You observed me coolly through the screen;
smiling, white teeth exposed, lips poised,
as if ready to say something –
some snappy comeback imminent.
There is no coming back.

A creaking rip in my stomach,
a sickening sensation that sinks;
but I can't help noticing –
you appear almost human here.
Note the telltale pink of too much sun,
the curl that wouldn't be flattened.
Hardly the portrait of a demon.

And yet that's what you are –
at least within my story. The monster.
Six years ago – or was it seven? –
I held my exorcism,
reciting prayers over your grave,
barricading you in with spells.
There will be no coming back.

That's what I remind myself
as I see your eyes sparkle darkly
and your fists harden in anticipation.
A violent scene. A flashback.
A picture of you burnt onto my eyelids,
branded eternally into my retinas.
You'll never be dead entirely.

Risen again in an image;
spectral, but you haven't lost your edge.
The bruises of previous punches
flood to the surface in inky blotches.
The scars you painted so delicately
weep crimson tears at the sight of you.
This is your final comeback.

I thought it was finally over.
I thought I'd moved past this.
The sulphur nightmares, the skittish fears –
all of it gone, for the most part.
I had come back from the broken brink,
and you had been vanquished.
But then, I saw your photo today.

​

Kirsty A. Niven lives in Dundee, Scotland. Her writing has appeared in anthologies such as Landfall, A Prince Tribute and Of Burgers and Barrooms. She has also featured in several journals and magazines, including The Dawntreader, Cicada Magazine, Dundee Writes and Word Fountain. Kirsty's work can also be found online on sites such as Cultured Vultures, Atrium Poetry and Nine Muses Poetry.

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