Sound of people talking, swiftly moving, the catch of a door, metal on metal, fires somewhere in the area, it’s smoky out, trees shedding leaves, if anything had occurred, we might have known, engines, ladders, someone crying, someone laughing, incongruous as the day wore on, and if anything had occurred, we would have come over, stopped the pulsating light, put on heavy coats and dragged out the dreams, changed the sheets, brought out a blanket, and the rhythm slower and slower, a glass of cold tea, something sweet, if anything had occurred, we would have pushed back the people, taken out the ashes, closed the door, shut the windows, and the sound of a piano in another room, as she turned to sleep and the fires disappeared and the smoke, and the sound of engines and people moving too quickly, and she turned to sleep as the light finally fell, and the room was dim and cool, and the piano an echo of another time.
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Andrea Moorhead
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