ASH WEDNESDAY
I gathered up the waiting from the wanting on
the floor; as they'd sent us new pictures of where
we had been. Just outside the doorway, a strong
wind was blowing south, rankling the shrubs and
bending some of the trees, to the point where they
almost seemed to snap - and then instead snapped back.
Upright again, they readied for another bout.
-
I was, at least, familiar with that.
Over by the menthol stand, where two
guys with hammers were molding the brass,
I watched the tallest girl I could find. She was
lighting a cigarette with her free hand, while the other
held both a purse and a small dog. An incredible
array, it seemed, all these crazy things at once.
-
How far are we, ever, really, from the mirror which
catches us all - every moment, watching, seeing,
to reflect us in all that we do? How glimmering,
or how sodden, is that reflection meant to be?
Do we take pride in moments we overlooked?
If so, to whom is it that we offer these moments back?
Certainly not ourselves; we're far smaller than that.
-
I motioned to the man in a short black coat.
He came over, and I said: 'you look so medieval
in your forehead of ashes. It does me good just
to see you alive. I hope you are mindful of that.'
I gathered up the waiting from the wanting on
the floor; as they'd sent us new pictures of where
we had been. Just outside the doorway, a strong
wind was blowing south, rankling the shrubs and
bending some of the trees, to the point where they
almost seemed to snap - and then instead snapped back.
Upright again, they readied for another bout.
-
I was, at least, familiar with that.
Over by the menthol stand, where two
guys with hammers were molding the brass,
I watched the tallest girl I could find. She was
lighting a cigarette with her free hand, while the other
held both a purse and a small dog. An incredible
array, it seemed, all these crazy things at once.
-
How far are we, ever, really, from the mirror which
catches us all - every moment, watching, seeing,
to reflect us in all that we do? How glimmering,
or how sodden, is that reflection meant to be?
Do we take pride in moments we overlooked?
If so, to whom is it that we offer these moments back?
Certainly not ourselves; we're far smaller than that.
-
I motioned to the man in a short black coat.
He came over, and I said: 'you look so medieval
in your forehead of ashes. It does me good just
to see you alive. I hope you are mindful of that.'
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