This is based off of Henri Cartier-Bresson's photograph: New England, 1947 |
She turned to show him just from where she'd jump. The flag hung loosely around her neck. That was the only picture he had courage to take of what this woman called heroic. The New York Times would report she had hired a photographer to capture the moment. The man, her son, would be accused as an accomplice in what they called her untimely death. And this photograph would be published. The image of his mother hand pointing, focus in her wrinkled mouth, printed. A caption beneath would quote the photographer to say that he had let her jump. She was far too old. And he was far too tired. And some people would think that they'd have done the same all the while pretending to be disgusted by this son's hardened heart. Later, her death would be called political, if only because of the laughter in her lifeless eyes. Her body, twisted together with the flag, as if dancing, or loving was almost pornographic: cold and frail, her skin the color of starvation. People would pause and shake their heads before continuing their breakfast as they read their newspapers about the sad, old woman convinced that the American Flag could make her fly. |