Why should they care—
when your face goes full loading screen as a friend announces,
“She’s an author and a photographer.”
So what—do you want confetti or a coupon?
My name is Cornelia De Dona.
I kept my ex-husband’s last name—
not nostalgia—just because it glides off the tongue like good bourbon,
and I’m not high-strung.
Not high-maintenance either—more like low-wattage menace with good posture.
My claim to fame is simple:
I’ve won awards—tiny gold stars for the way my mind bites the page.
Recognition, too, for my writing and my art—
the art being photography: stealing light and returning it as evidence.
People tell me my photos are beautiful,
like this burrowing owl—
she posed as I passed, a pocket-sized bouncer in feathers,
eyes flashing WARNING, and, honestly, I was impressed—
she gave me her best angle, like she’d trained in a studio I can’t afford.
And after all, that’s all anyone can do
show up, hold still, and dare the world to look back.
Corney Press 