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Hello, tintype woman, you who fell from the
old album I picked up in the street, yes, I
know that many years have passed since your
reflection was captured on this thin tin
plate which I now hold up to the light, magni-
fying glass in hand, so that I might see your
many rings and how beautiful your were,
hair straight back, staring into the camera,
neither solemn nor stern, but serious, digni-
fied, so beautifully dressed, as befits this
important occasion when your image would
be engraved for all eternity, then the passage
through attics and basements, the album's
sole survivor, so you might finally travel to
me a century later, arriving this spring, on
Brook St., in Brookline, in Massachusetts, a
young woman who looked at life directly, so fear-
lessly, and with high hopes, a pioneer woman
or gypsy for sure, what became of you, what
became of the life that cast this shadow in my
hand?
May 1, 2005