What a Way Out Thing She Said

In the morning she’d listen half-heartedly as she moved around the room. That bird was here yesterday…that car needs a tune-up. The cruel thoughts of 1 or 2 a.m. had dissipated. In the bright light she needed shades. In the sounds she needed coffee.

When did the neighbor first begin to watch the alley, sitting over there every morning like that? Staring or simply posed in that direction? Was she lonely? Was she afraid?

She came to the porch on tentative feet. Too much to juggle, too much to hear. How old is this coffee mug? Are those scratches on her lenses or is the world slashed a little this way and that?

It was unbearable to watch her as she just sat. I’m sure she moved, but you couldn’t prove it.

In the morning the light comes crashing.

In the morning the sound falls down.

I was sure she said what a morning! exclaiming, but never turning round.

Was she someone I’d met? Was she someone I know?

Through these lenses the world is slashed up some.

In this coffee I’m sure she said is she lonely? is she afraid?

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