Читать книгу Second Bloom - Anya Krugovoy Silver - Страница 15

Tragedy won’t stop the world’s drone.

Weekly meetings continue, typed agendas

shuffled on the table like the Dead Sea’s tides.

Illness remains impolite among colleagues.

When I mention cancer, the eyes around me lower.

The woman to my right pushes up her glasses.

The woman to my left nods vaguely, pen hovering.

Then all attention turns to questions of the budget.

Outside the window, boughs rustle pointlessly.

Everyone agrees that Shakespeare is still relevant.

The eyelet of a shoe imperceptibly loosens

from its stitching, the unraveling begun in earnest.

Even words seem to lose their stickiness and fall,

sickly, from the ceiling tiles. Only I notice them.

Very slowly, so as not to make anyone nervous,

I shake my head and x’s drop from my hair.