Cars are still rushing by, though it is now 8:30pm. The chair to my right is laden with two of my jackets. A train siren. A car and another car. Four apples left to eat, three mandarins and two bananas. A louder siren. A pause between cars. The hum of the fridge. The crickets. Blood coursing through my ears – or I imagine that is what I am hearing, but how can this be? How can the motion of blood make a sound? A far more distant siren. I am becoming cold in just a blue, long-sleeved shirt. The lightest breeze plays in at the door. A empty bowl of yoghurt and honey shines like a photograph of the face of an intimate lover who has long since left me behind. She is sitting on a wooden deck on some late afternoon with the clouds bunched above the roofs of the near houses. We are looking at the same sky. We share the same sky. Another distant siren. A dog barking. The crickets. The wall clock. No cars at all.

This entry was posted in Writing and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *