February Poems - Notes
Slides - Prelude
The boxes had sat under the house since the last
move. Before that they sat in the garage of the last house. Pieces
of my parents life, packed up when we emptied their house after my
father's death. One box is full of slides, old technology that I
don't even have a way of viewing properly now. They are still packed
in plastic trays that you place in the slide machine. There was a
lever on the side that pushed the slide into front of the bulb when
you pulled it down and pushed it back when you pulled it up.
I pick a slide out
of the box and hold it up to the light. The colours, once intense
kodachrome, have now faded to bright pastels. The image is at first
hard to see, I have to make sure the light is directly behind the
slide, even then I have to relearn how to read the slide – once I
could hold a slide up to the light, determine up from down, left to
right, front to back, and load it back in its tray so it displayed
the right way. Now I have to squint to make the image out, turning
the slide over and over.
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