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©2019 by Prometheus Dreaming

The Art of Cinema

by Yejin Suh

Alpenglow is what they call the redirection of light towards

snowcaps like rosedust though some people ponder

the mischief of refractions across peaks, rising and

falling in a valley like the cadence of voices carving

a hazy Mediterranean summer, blushing

laze, heat-stricken and searing under my fingernails. A 

language of tenative light we speak round the table, 

smoke furling in crumbles, eyeing the script. I watch day and night 

waiting for anyone to say their lines. The other day 

I knocked over a feed-reel, dust-ridden and cigarette-pressed, 

loose film unraveled in spiraling winds down the stairs, around 

bunched corners, piling at my feet. I might know you from 

sound. I could see you in a Spaghetti Western: hair flying, fingers 

bumbling. Smiling that movie star smile.