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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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Celluloid  

 

The movie and I merge

into a timelessness

that’s neither where I sit

in what was once an opera house

in southern Mexico

nor the old manor house in France

that’s on the screen

for I’m absorbed into the who the actors are

and what they do, not as them

but as myself in them, a ninety-minute miracle

of being, doing, feeling that is both me

and something more than me

and when the lights come on

and people cough, grope for their shoes,

a different someone

from the who I was when I went in

blinks at Yamahas and juggling clowns

and toddlers chasing red balloons

as France reverts Mexico

and paused beside a fried bananas stall

my nod of recognition

is returned by the stain-aproned fryer

whose face reflects the changes

his night of work’s imposed.

 

                 -Robert Joe Stout