then, as you scan
it, you see in the left-hand corner
a thing that is like a branch: part of a tree
(balsam or spruce) emerging
and, to the right, half way up
what ought to be a gentle
slope, a small frame house.
In the background there is a lake,
and beyond that, some low hills.
(The photograph was taken
the day after I drowned.
I am in the lake, in the center
of the picture, just under the surface.
It is difficult to say where
precisely, or to say
how large or small I am:
the effect of the water
on light is a distortion
but if you look long enough,
eventually
you will be able to see me.)
This poem is divided into two parts, with the second half seperated by brackets. The first half paints a beautiful picture of the Canadian landscape, obviously recalling Atwood's childhood experience in the wilderness of Northern Ontario and Quebec. In the first stanza, it is as if the speaker is trying to remember the fuzzy memories of her youth. This half is very lyrical, with repetition of similiar sounds lulling the reader into a false sense of peace. In the second half, however, we are surprised to find that the speaker is dead. The images of time and space become distorted and muddled; the lake, which is first seen "in the background", is now "in the center/of the picture". In the last stanza, we are asked to search long and hard, so we may see past our distorted vision to discover what actually lies below the surface. "This is a Photograph of Me" becomes a desperate search for identity.