Inventoried Adoration


Item One: Still-life, found object sculpture called ‘Enduring’. Its parts are a
combination of sepia light and vinyl, one diamond tipped turntable stylus containing
a pinprick reflection of Mum and Dad dancing through seven different kitchens. 

Item Two: Recently re-discovered streetscape. Multiple parked car windows, left in
situ, signed with hand drawn hearts. Grit, and water, on glass, reflecting two smiles
that are all teeth, glowing so bright as to be the source of the images’ illumination.
Best viewed sparkling in the effects of morning condensation. 

Item Three: Magic diptych of slightly overexposed polaroids in black and white.
One veil of Spanish lace suspended in thin air. Rice flying in the face of a white
church, against a dark summer sky. Close your eyes whilst rubbing these between
your fingers and you will hear a flamboyant organ and acoustic guitars. 

Item Four: Rescued VHS tape labelled, ‘Beach 2005’. Six crumpled clips make for
a mosaic of perspectives. Red grapes, fresh from the cooler, sweat in the sun. Tiny
toes wriggle in sand to the rhythm of offscreen belly laughter. Fingers grab fistfuls
of foam from the edge of a wave. Eyes scrunched, salt drops glittering on pink
cheeks, on twin plaits, mouth open, squealing. Mum front-lit. Dad back-lit.
Watching together.


I call her


She will have a double-edged smile, the kind that tells you she appreciates
dramatic irony. Her hair will halo in sunset light. Her skin will be harvest moon gold.
She’ll be younger than I imagine but her soul will have scars. I won’t explain them.
Their unspoken origin stories will provide compelling subtext. 

We will cross paths in countless corners before I work up enough courage to make
conversation. Our first words to each other will be, ‘Oh, have you been here all this
time?’ We will speak in unison. 

Her eyes will laugh. I will stare. After I blink, she will be gone. 

I will curse because I didn’t ask for a way to keep in touch. I will fear not
recognising her in the crowds. I will wonder if some stranger put his pen to her
while my back was turned. I will look for her in every wrong place, all the expected
ones. She will always find me first. 

Her eyes will laugh. I will stare. After I blink, she will be gone.


Maryana Garcia is a journalist, poet and picture-maker fascinated by everyday miracles. Her poetry has been published in The Spinoff, A Clear Dawn, takahē and Poetry New Zealand Yearbook. Her photography can be found in Stasis and Unsplash.