Split Screening
Silent home movie, 1963
Silvered celluloid
uncoils like fishing line –
a flattened monofilament
of unedited bygones.
Retinal memory
integrates stills
to the illusion of smooth
analogue motion.
A cone of light
strikes the bare wall
of a darkened room.
Sprockets click and
disengage. Smoke curls
in eddies of memory as if
trying to retrieve lost words
or recall their meaning.
In three minutes
the reel runs out:
dots polka, then blend
to blinding white
while pupils adapt.
There are no credits,
only blame for Dad’s focus
and lack of direction.