Friday, April 11, 2008

Spring

The sound of a woman crying in the next apartment tells him that the windows are open, that spring is here.

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

The whiz of a bullet through his body tells him that the windows are open, that spring is here.

The scent of a baby roasting in the next apartment tells him that the windows are open, that spring is here.

The sound of a woman clapping in between movements of Beethoven's Fifth tells him that the windows are open, that spring is here.

The sight of a grad student slashing her wrists in the next cubicle tells him that the cubicle walls only extend three-quarters of the way up to the ceiling, that incompetent architects are here.

n!

Chevalier said...

shoutout to n! for 'baby roasting'. doesnt get much darker, springtime or otherwise...


The utter silence around her even as she can see birds chirp outside tells her spring is here, but she's stuck at work all day.

Photographs on flickr of beaches put up by friends on break tell her spring is here, but she's stuck at work all day.

Catalogues of swimwear sent to her mailbox, thumbed through at night, post dinner, post work, tell her spring is here, but she's stuck at work all day.

A co-worker with a red nose complaining of pollen all day and her car covered with the stuff - all tell her spring is here, but she's stuck at work all day.

Turbo-tax ads tell her spring is here. But she needs to be at work all day.

page175 said...

beautiful, and sad.

km said...

Aaargh. Suckerpunched.

//baby-roasting isn't dark. It's charred.

dipali said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Anil P said...

Apt.