My mother was thirteen
when she first saw Lilac Time.
How it forged her romantic soul,
and set the mold for the man
of her dreams, who would
take her, shyly, almost silently,
his eyes piercing the core of her!
Through the years she recounted
her hero's words and rehearsed the
girl's spunky coos, while shining hot
wings split the sun and thundered
about over the lushness of the garden
of her memory — where a bunch
of lilacs as deliverers from evil
were as heady as any real bouquet.
Raucous laughter amongst comrades,
and war songs sung above the whir
of propellers...she remembered
it all, but mostly she remembered
their strong, quiet love.
My mother was seventy
when she next saw Lilac Time.
I pushed 'Play' (watching her
watching the screen) and she took a
deep breath to calm her romantic soul
as the film began — Then she shyly,
almost silently, whispered to me:
"But...Where's the sound?"
MLydiaM ~ September 2011
I absolutely labored over this first write for dVerse~ Poets Pub
where Silent Films are considered this week.
More about Lilac Time (1928) here.