Relishing Corpses

We see them in old movies, aged sitcoms – black and white or fading color. We hear ancient languages— dead voices on sound tracks, buried giggles, awkward squawks of unexpected laughter. We relish corpses— old friends, remembered relatives stiff in brown photographs. Reels creak, VHS tapes moan, DVDs hum silently with sprocket holes, white scratches in sky, burnt nitrate edges of night. We relish corpses. They are us.