Mar 4, 2008

Stardust Memories

Written by Daniel Nester

Read by Amanda Auchter

There’s a picture draped behind each face.
Huge black light posters, in fact.
A half-glimpse of her hair lasts days,
a stare at eyes, harbored hours. My sister
and I played psychodrama: She gets hurt,
I’d cry, too — sand dug in our knees, eyes meet,
hearts tramp down on a patch of grass.

The camera, too, reacts once.
An immense, cherubic instant.
People say it’s a second of feeling
just the right moment, but it can last a
good ten minutes. A trumpet could blast,
right in the subway, of a love refrain.
It can’t be, you realize. This won’t last
for long at all. A brush of an eyelash.
A clarion in the background, a voice.