the heroine-goddess of eight millimeter film


The Heroine-Goddess of Eight Millimeter Film

In the early frames of this cut, she stands,
squinted eyes beneath a furrowed brow.
Her head is skewed just perfectly
to reveal her face to the sun
(the dead god of her father's 
father's myths).

The glorious pose, 
her spine arched back, 
subtly, but enough to convey 
the strength of the Great Wall of China
or the Lighthouse at Alexandria.

The plains grasses sway vividly 
in this shot, bowing behind her
in worship...
Or is it supplication?

In the next few frames,
as her head turns slightly to the left,
this woman is shaking away,
in the subtlest of gestures,
the complete history of the plain;
she is shrugging off the detritus 
of burdens borne and lost, 
abandoning her memory to oblivion.

In this footage, contrived to glorify,
looking up from the perspective of a child
or the pleading grass,
I see that she truly is the heroine-goddess
of eight millimeter film.

The grasses will sway
forever 
in the confines of celluloid or videotape, 
a counterfeit immortality 
for the needy wavering supplicants

and the sky behind her,
kneeling, surrendering, 
touching its head to the ground
for her grace.