Shutter by Teri Cross Davis

Third Prize
 
Shutter

For Kevin Carter, Winner of the 1994 Pulitzer Prize for Feature Photography in The New York Times

And if you could go back, you would
You would pick the child up, gingerly like a newborn
cradling her large head, thin-skinned body, jutting bones,
And no mother you, but you would have hushed her
Won’t you pick her up, gingerly, like a newborn
Shoo away the vulture, whose crime is hers too, hunger
And you’re no mother, but you would have hushed her because
What distance is a lens, a camera’s shutter, snap that captures
Shooing away the vulture, (whose crime was hers too, hunger)
Framing a moment that will pass, like breath, like life
Because what distance is a lens, a camera’s shutter, snap that captures
Arid, ravaged Sudan, torn in two, like you as you crouch closer
Framing a moment that will pass, like breath, like life
And if you could go back, you would
into arid ravaged Sudan, torn in two, just like you, crouch closer
cradle her, large head, thin-skinned, body only jutting bones

Judges’ Comments – This pantoum resonates and haunts with its repetition of lines and vivid imagery.  It is a call to action for anyone who wishes she had done something differently -- “And if you could go back, you would.”  I saw this poem without needing to see the photograph, and for me it perfectly captured the false distance we place between ourselves and people we cannot imagine ourselves as.  This reclaiming the connection and oneness of us all was beautifully captured without being maudlin or exploitive.  This piece is piercing in its smoothness.