Frames [#8 Lorin]

Revised February 2014:

Frames

         for Lorin

You sit there clad in somber grey, intent on your phone, emotions parading across your face. You look up, smile and wave.

The day outside reflects only grey ... but we are sitting inside where the fragrance of cupcakes and coffee blends with the sounds of the bakery: the clatter of the mixer slapping the bowl, the soft chatter around us.

You're off in your own world, 8 millimeters wide and flickering, each frame telling a story, each scene a series of frames, tales recorded, told and retold.

I'm not bold. I don't ask what you see through blank eyes, what emotions are held there at bay, what thoughts banished to the cutting floor, what memorialized in dialogue and film.

I sit in my own world, a still frame in black and white, no words, just action verbs moving through landscapes of nouns, named places, unnamed spaces, the hole in my heart. The whole of it adorned with adverbs and adjectives, descriptions that fail to describe and all too often hide truth.

Which punctuation or pronoun should I use... Her? Him! My eyes dim this grey day, but yours, reddened with a cold, glow as embers.

© Kåre Enga [168.202] November 8, 2011

Note: published version in "This and every November"

Frames

         for Lorin

You sit there clad in somber grey, intent on your phone, emotions parading across your face. You look up, smile and wave.

The day outside reflects only grey ... but we are sitting inside where the fragrance of cupcakes and coffee blends with the sounds of the bakery: the clatter of the mixer slapping the bowl, the soft chatter around us.

You're off in your own world. 8 millimeters wide and flickering. Each frame telling a story, each scene a series of frames, tales recorded, told and retold.

I'm not bold. I don't ask you what you see through blank eyes, what emotions are held there at bay, what thoughts banished to the cutting floor, what memorialized in dialogue and film.

I sit in my own world, a still frame in black and white, no words, just action verbs moving through landscapes of nouns, named places, unnamed spaces, the hole in my heart. The whole of it adorned with adverbs and adjectives, descriptions that fail to describe and all too often hide truth.

Which punctuation or pronoun to use... Her? Him! My eyes dim this grey day, but yours, reddened with a cold, glow as embers.

© Kåre Enga

[168.202] #8 November 8, 2011

Note to self, earlier versions: You sit there clad in somber grey, intent on your telephone, emotions parading across your face. You look up, smile and wave.

The day outside reflects only grey ...but we are sitting inside where the fragrance of cupcakes and coffee blends with the sounds of the bakery. The clatter of the mixer slapping the bowl; the soft chatter around us.

You're off in your own world. 8 millimeters wide and flickering. Each frame telling a story, each scene a series of frames, tales recorded, told and retold.

I'm not bold. I don't ask you what you see through blank eyes, what emotions are held there at bay, what thoughts banished to dialogue and film.

I sit in my own world, a still frame of a black and white movie, no words, just action verbs moving through a landscape of nouns, named places, unnamed spaces, the hole in my heart. The whole of it adorned with adverbs and adjectives, descriptions that fail to describe and too often hide the truth.

Which punctuation or pronoun to use... Her? Him! My eyes dim this grey day, but yours, reddened with a cold, glow as embers.