Before the Earthquake
Tonight I watched a snip of film
shot in San Francisco, 1906:
someone fixed a camera to the front
of a trolly headed down
Market Street to the Embarcadero —
for eleven minutes horses pull carts,
buggies, tramcars, while men
in suits and fedoras gingerly step
between them and the other trolleys
and the few automobiles, open
to the skies; women in full dresses
and hats clutch at parcels (one carries
something on her head); children
wear headgear too: scarves, caps …
and newsboys in knickerbockers
wave the latest edition. Except
for streetcars, traffic seems to choose
its own direction, scattering like ants.
Everything is black and white.
……………………………….…………I sit
cross-legged on my bed watching this
and feel a tremor; I wonder
whether an earthquake is upon us,
as happened mere days
after the film was made …
but then realize my heart is shaking
my body, moving me gently forward
and back with the pulse of life.
In 1906 my grandfather
was my daughter’s age now;
Like every unsuspecting extra
in that long tracking shot, he is gone,
with the Model Ts, dogs, haberdashers.
…………………………………….….……………. Still,
it was joyful to see those people
at their business and alive
before the city trembled,
fell, burned; some must have been
happy; some noticed the camera, and waved.
by Michael Chrisman
from Little Stories
Dyslexia Books, 2013