Hold that time
“Meet me in St. Louis, Louis…”
If my seven-year-old daughter
were a U.S. year, she would be
While the movie’s a slog to me,
she is transported on Garland’s
Technicolor eyes to a time
cradled tenderly in the arms
of a later time that used film
as a salve and an opiate.
Maybe she won’t find out how glum
Judy became. The plot’s struggles,
in retrospect, are quick to dim.
When we watch the “Making of…” reel,
it opens with clips of bombers.
Instead we steer on Google to
The Fair and Liza Minnelli.