ANTHONY R. VIZZARI | ARCHTOGRAPHIST

Highland Mary I fell off the wall when plaster gave way to the weight of one-thousand prayers hanging on a single nail. A certain half-cracked silence floated over Highland like soft piano keys tapping as the glass tore itself apart from the frame. New little symphonic shards projected themselves across the floor, crooked and stubborn. I fell off the wall when plaster gave way to the vibration of so many voices resonating on one thin wire. I fell off the wall when you forgot to push me straight. I fell of the wall despite your attempts to battle gravity. I fell off the wall and cut your foot.

Lillian was my grandfather’s sister, my mother’s aunt…and therefore, my great-aunt. With best intention, my mother recently sent me an old photo of Lil in a wedding dress, torn in half, without a groom. –black and white. In her mind, my mother was probably thinking… "wow, look at this old photo of Lil… you like old photos…and, well, you were somewhat close with Lil, so you should have this.” Of course, that gesture was great… I do like old photos, I did like Lil. I was legitimately surprised to see this torn modest artifact tucked inside a card. Under normal circumstances, I’d find something like this at countless flea markets, shops, etc… I’d relish in the fact that someone took the time to cut out their husband, yet, somehow couldn ’t manage to discard the photo of themself in a wedding dress? I’d find this ironic and write a little story about it. The story would be dry, or, tongue-in-cheek, yet “somewhat” close to the truth, because, as truth would have it, we’re not all th...