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.
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