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The Longing |
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written
by sunyuh / 10.02.2005 |
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Part 1: |
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Is it wonderful to see everything with the sun. It’s just a fading building. He says before the last scene. It’s just a fading building, light pink curtains with white shirt laundry mosaics: imitations, on walls. Just like the old movies. He repeats. Practically black and white. But a reminder: seven cable satellite dishes at the top.
This is movement—It’s Lempicka in her cool green car, flying through the street in replicas. The shutters open in odd numbers and rhythms. The city follows her through and through in imperfect circles. A window opens with a sign that reads: A stasera. There is laughter and the hills are fading into the sun. But all the things human molded are laced together by this shadow. All the things with bolted windows wake up last.
All the Romans walk by without any glances. This has become their backdrop. There is an older gentleman is licking his gelato, pistachio. He strolls by with his dark wooden cane and never looks across. He’s memorized it perhaps, perhaps when he was smaller. He still loves it it seems, from his slow and broken pace. He’s memorized it somehow.
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Part 2: |
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People place prayers on the corner of the statue. Mary. They leave pictures of birthday parties and family members, little children who are smiling. The little bits of paper are scattered, some have fallen to the floor. An old lady stands besides the statue and picks them up, and hide her own among them.
I stay with her. I should leave before the sunsets, but the old woman has been sitting by the entrance, selling miniature photos of Mary. She has a plastic white bag in her hand. Her back is dented to the ground. People are buying her photos. A couple, the young is wearing an orange shirt. She doesn’t say much or look at the photograph. After them, no one else wants to buy. So I follow her out, both of us needing the sun outside.
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