People in Pictures from the 90s

20somethings in pictures from the 90s look so fierce and joyful. And a bit like slobs.

There's a PostSecret this week with two 90s college friends jumping, estactic. The caption, "And in this moment we were infinite." I believe it.

Photobombing a touching graduation memory in 2012.

Photos were still rare then, but not so rare you would need to sit still holding a parasol to pose for one. The disposable was king. You never knew how it would be. At this point in my life I've seen more pictures of myself this year than those grunge-os saw in a decade. There's something careless about the poses. Most likely they'll rattle around in someone's car for a few months after being developed at the drug store, flutter out the window on a brisk day.

Anything could be seen by quite literally everyone now. There must be a part of us that knows, even when we're not fixated on the fact. Just someone holding a phone vertically is a threat. "What are you doing? Reading something? Likely story." We sit up straight and add the tiniest smile to ourselves. "Now I look lovable," one might think. "And thin."

And I thought I'd live forever, but now I'm not so sure.

Re-Thin

When my mother makes gingerbread cookies,
that dough is stretched so thin.
Partially because it's the one dough
I don't keep hacking gobs of. Partially
because no one likes a fat ginger kid.
Too tough. The front teeth sting.
The dough is stretched so thin.
I watch her--my mother--
work that rolling pin over and over,
she shoves her heft into the countertop.
I try to do it myself, but I can never get it like she can--
even though I'm supposed to be the spry one.
(Jillian Michaels, you know?)
Stretched so thin.
(I'm feeling stretched so thin,
which isn't new.
But I do it to fill all the spaces with love.
Real-ace love: chewy and substantial.
Fill all the spaces.)
You cut out a little boy, and you paint him over
with the milk brush, and you stick him
cinnamon drop buttons.
He's on the rack with his brothers. You pray
you won't burn anything.
Ever.
If you can help it. (Maybe even if you can't.)
The once-flat sheet is mangled with holes.
She smashes it
into a lump. Re-throw, re-roll, re-thin.
Re-start.