At the Movies
When the blues threaten to consume me,
when life seems a cruel ruse
and I’m losing every battle and war,
I don’t fill up on booze
or kneel in a church pew.
I meet me at the movies at night.
The sky’s dark, but the theater is darker.
Strangers fuse together inside this womb,
becoming an audience,
seeking salvation together,
clues about our human condition,
or just a good laugh or two.
I love it when the lights die,
cueing our voyage,
the spell cast by motion and colour –
smooth, flowing moves to jittery jump cuts,
restrained, subtle hues to bacchanalian jewels.
Gifted new actors and directors are thrilling.
Veterans I know better than my relatives are wonderful too.
Of course a good script is essential,
but some nights a bad one will do.
When the film’s over
and the credits are rolling,
I thank every name scrolling by
and then thank their muse
for helping me forget me for a few hours.
I’m meeting me at the movies tonight.
Sheila Wellehan's work is recently featured or forthcoming in Forklift, Ohio; Menacing Hedge; San Pedro River Review; Tinderbox Poetry Journal; Whale Road Review, and elsewhere. She lives in Cape Elizabeth, Maine. Visit her online at www.sheilawellehan.com.
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