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LR Bolex S321

Published in Langara’s West Forty Ninth Magazine, 1991

A countdown of flashing
black and white 4-3-2-1–
prepares me, warns me of this
viewing. It

sends me there.
A wooden swing from oak tree to beach each
thundering wave lashing out to lick my heels but I
escape and chase the cat under the porch where it
hides in the shade and
cleans its paws and I am off again
distracted,

by my father’s laughter now: About then I
mean. The film dug up like a diamond,
preserved, perfect. The
faces raised high on top of shoulders to
pick the biggest apple. Tricycle
chauffeurs red wagon limousine in the
hot sun hands waving as we reel around
in circles.

Film that spins and flicks and is
finished.

The packaged film he hands to me is a
forgotten pawn, a missing year unredeemable.
One lost broken fragment that cuts.

When I write a year on the yellow box, the ink
simply smudges like an unfinished
epitaph, the first and final years left
undefined.



Source : Photo

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