Still Waters

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Reel Time

In the mind’s minute crevices
the movie reel rattles,
permanently replicating
horror-flicks in spasmodic jolts,
the five senses extrapolated
in a memory that dominates.

Yield to the disturbance,
then rapidly blink the film from your pupils.
Scarred tissues will soon disintegrate
into the mental cinema
that resides in your core,
no longer marring the soul.

Past projectors circulate an oath:
forgetting is impossible,
but in real time
the opening credits
cue to play on.

2010

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Still Waters

By Christina Avila

Poetry and Prose

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