I’m still thinking about birthdays. But my mind wanders. I was thinking about when I was in New York a few years ago, when cell phones were still new. A couple was walking towards me, each on a cell phone, each talking to someone else.
Funny. And weird.
And I was thinking about a woman I know who blogs all the time. She’s built an impressive following and now her career depends partly on blogging. At conferences, when a group of us are relaxing in an intimate circle, she’ll suddenly jump up, snap a photo, and post it.
At first it was a thrill. I felt sort of famous to be posted on her blog.
At the same time I felt…icky. As if I were covered in slime. It felt like the worst parts of Hollywood. It reminded me of Angelyne, who became famous in Los Angeles for the billboard she commissioned-of herself. She was famous for being famous.
And it reminded me of the first line of that poem by William Hughes Mearns
Yesterday upon the stair
I met a man who wasn’t there
So all of those thoughts went into today’s poem:
GHOST GIRL
by April Halprin Wayland
I know a girl who isn’t there.
Perhaps she breathes a different air,
or has distinctive DNA.
She documents all night and day
so she can show us what she’s done.
She snaps her camera moon and sun.
She clicks and clicks and posts all those
‘cause what she sees the world must know
We pass a fragrant yellow rose
I lean to breathe it with my nose.
When I look up so I can share,
she takes a pix…
xxxxxxxxxxxxxbut isn’t there.
© 2010 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved
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