Back to Issue Seven.

Rain’s Idea of Cinema


long before film was invented
rain made a film of us falling

we fell past rain’s window
we fell against rain’s window
we collected ourselves in puddles
on the sidewalks

long before sidewalks were invented

and while rain was filming
the wind picked up
and pulled us out of our puddles
and back up into the sky

we rushed as clouds
past skyscrapers and gathered
into bigger clouds over bridges

long before skyscrapers
or bridges were invented

and rain recorded it all
with her camera
wondering how she would edit it later

long before cameras
or editing were invented

and now rain shows us the films
she made every time she comes back around
to ask us when we are going to allow her
to invent us again

Denver Butson has published three books: triptych (The Commoner Press, 1999), Mechanical Birds (St. Andrews Press, 2001), and Illegible Address (Luquer Street Press, 2004). His work appears in The Yale Review, Ontario Review, Caliban, Quarterly West, and Exquisite Corpse. He lives in Brooklyn, New York.

More by Denver Butson: 
“Avalanche Café,” Poetry, Issue Seven.
“The Sky Erotic,” Poetry, Issue Seven.
“Rain’s House,” Poetry, Issue Seven.