Watching an old movie from the 40’s in which every one
of the actors--except for maybe the kid--has passed on,
a question comes to mind: What would any of the actors think
if they knew I was watching them right now? which, in a sense,
is keeping them alive.
After I asked myself this, I wondered how I might feel when I’m gone
if somehow I could observe someone reading one of my poems,
smiling afterward, or even raising their head in serious reflection.
I guess, in the end, it’s pretty hard to know. . .
Jeffrey Zable is a teacher, conga drummer/percussionist who plays for dance classes and rumbas around the San Francisco Bay Area, and a writer of poetry, flash-fiction, and non-fiction. His writing has appeared recently in Chewers & Masticadores, Linked Verse, Ranger, Cacti Fur, Uppagus, Greensilk, Aether Avenue, and many others...
I love the clever thought-angles of this poem, especially the line about everyone in the film gone "except for maybe the kid," and then turning it around to our own impression-filled lives; how we may be observed and remembered, too.
ReplyDeleteThe poem reminds me of my father, who loved watching old, black-and-white films of his yesteryear. Through the decades, I would sometimes hear my father sigh whenever he'd hear a movie star of his youth pass away. I'd glean the louder his sigh, the bigger their influence. I never understood that deep sigh until the day Prince died.
Excellent poem!!