War Photographer

By Karl Sherlock

She pulls herself together 
at the last, moistens lips 
before parting them: sits still, 
looks nowhere in particular, 
as long as it’s forward 
in the camera’s direction. 

He pushes in, against her sore  
shoulder. He’s short- sleeve  
t-shirted, hasn’t showered,  
tastes his own tongue, finds  
the aperture despite the dusk.  

That night, she’ll vow to bang 
aluminum stock pots from out 
of inconvenient cabinets, 
mutter angrily to herself 
till daylight. In her seething, 

he’ll pretend to fill the bed  
with slumber, un- perturbed,  
rise for work at 5am,  
put the cold kettle onto boil  
for her. The incendiary flash- 

cube boggles them with  
scattershot, cobalt-white. Their 
elbows touch—to fix, to orient.  

For him, truce. Her:  

temporary blindness. 

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Karl Sherlock’s recent work appears or is forthcoming in After Happy Hour, Assaracus, Broken Lens, Lime Hawk, Mollyhouse, RockPaperPoem, and others. He is a Sundress 2014 “Best of the Net” finalist for his memoir about marrying a conversion therapy torture survivor. A professor of writing at Grossmont College, he lives in El Cajon, California with his critically ill husband, Max.