Poets' Corner: "The Drive-In" For Film Fest
Editor’s note: Kierstin Bridger, a winner of Telluride Arts’ Mark Fischer Poetry Prize, is a regular contributor to Telluride Inside… and Out. She is nothing if not arch and, like painter Edward Hopper, a keen observer of our solitude, for better or for worse, always pregnant with possibilities. Kierstin sent the following poem in honor of the upcoming Telluride Film Festival.
I took two photos before I left.
I called the first one MARVEL, the letters
on the big screen, scarlet against troubled sky.
But it was the sign of lightning,
the shadow of rain that grabbed me,
started me walking,
through the clutch of cotton candy heat,
my phone lighting my path, a clean sidewalk
poured last year over this dry dusty field,
scored like salt crackers slid from a box,
like film strip from Persona, grey canvas of Bergman.
Black on white. I move parallel to the screen,
meet the horizon while the storm swells,
an electric moon through drought-resistant branches
and I’m hot, walking, a woman in a black dress.
The heat rises from the sidewalk, meets me
from underneath, the friction, the pace of air,
my legs scissoring over the lines –it stirs me.
When I reach my car parked two blocks over
my phone vibrates in my hand. I see you pulling out
he says. I’m watching you from the fence.
I imagine for a moment it is not my husband
who stayed back with the children but a more
dangerous man following my scent, wanting
my open mouth.
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