Camera

Starting the camera

The flash bulb is my favorite part; it’s made of slab glass

Mnemosyne is the hook in the song that catches in your ear. She’s the turn of phrase in a poem that you still recall. She doesn’t care if you like the poem or even understand it. To Mnemosyne the essence is not what we hold, but how we hold it. She is the smell of a grandmother’s kitchen, the tint and hue of the photographs taken when we were children. Her domain is not accuracy, just persistence.