Often she heard them
speak back
as the curtains would open
before the screen flashed
another scene.
prettiest bow mouth
would quiver
at the arrows
aimed at the eyes,
aimed at the center of her.
did it work clara?
one life up
there sepia toned &
blurred as a memory
all that jazz cabaret club smoke
did it hide your face silent one?
All your unsewn gestures,
innocence is a game
your eyes a small projector.
if they stare long enough
you disappear
& they become the movie.