Impressionist Cinema

Each memory is a hazy frame
in the making of a movie
of my life.


Long, hot, mouth burn of a chilli pepper
eaten in error,

scent of lemon trees on a hill
in a Greek fishing village,

first cold beer at the RE
in the sun on that Sunday after swimming at Colleges Crossing,

never-ending red centre
viewed from the thick window of a whining plane,

playing netball the day after Split Enz
made my ears ring.


things not remembered
have perished,

things remembered
are just memories,

impressionist cinema.