( For Marian, My mother  1922-2016)


On this day. the day before your birthday

desert clouds are stacked in stone-gray.

The wind sporting a ragged dress

runs wild and reaches up

trying to climb them. We’re watching ( witnessing)

Bronte’s shadow, Merle Oberon’s slight form

standing against the storm cliffs


feeling eternity; and from eternity

glancing down  at the moors. Her lowlands

haunted by lament & heather. Yet. here

it’s coyote’s wail and mesquite. But still, we’re

in a silver frame of mind. The sky unrolls

its reel of weather; and back in our old house, we’re looking

at  Wuthering Heights, 1939.  You whisper

she’s a beautiful actress. Her eyes exotic..

and I remember thinking then

as I do now, how much you resemble her.

Even more, the character


she artfully portrayed. Your heart stretched

beyond the river to hills towering in myth

and dark shade. An ache to grab the ancient

and  the romantic.  Something  freight trains

couldn’t carry home or their brick enclaves

manufacture. On this day, the day before

most of the leaves have fallen, you lean back

against the horizon recalling

the film we shared , loved — and I shed cold skirts

of air that separate souls.


3 replies on “Cinema”

While I hesitate to call the descriptions in this poem “perfect”, I honestly don’t see how they could be any better. You capture mood, scene, moment, movie, and mother


” I shed cold skirts

of air that separate souls.”


Such lines as those make it hard to breathe but they assure that poetry will live forever.
This poem is more than a tribute (though it is a beautiful tribute) it is a sharing of souls,
a gentle connecting that ties beginning to end and celebrates the middle. Beautiful
hardly suffices but it is a hint of the two souls that share such kinship.



Hi Michael,

Thank you so much for reading and commenting on this poem! I really appreciate your kind comments and perspective.

Hi Sarah,

So glad you enjoyed this poem! Your thoughtfulness is deeply appreciated!

My Best to you both,


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