in the safelight red i learned to stand still
longer than felt reasonable
longer than i believed the paper could hold
the image comes up slow
grey ghosting into being
a face i didn’t choose emerging
from a face i thought i had chosen
i wanted to lift it early
see if it was right
but early is how you lose the print entirely
so i waited
counted nothing
let the tray do what trays do
when it finally surfaces
it isn’t the photograph i planned
it’s the one the chemicals agreed on
then comes the fixer
smelling of vinegar and cold process
it moves through what i made
and keeps what it keeps
without asking
i rinse it under water gone cold
i don’t look at it too long
because looking is how you start negotiating with what’s finished
somewhere behind me
a negative i won’t print again
dries in the dark
becoming nothing in particular
—lyra moon (the darkroom door locks from the inside)
september 18, 2026