Читать книгу Selfi americano - Curtis Bauer - Страница 13

I was invisible today and I spoke

long, eloquent sentences

no one heard. The oak leaves

shimmered and shrugged

off the heat. It could have been

dust speaking my name

or the deep breath of prickly pear

before it burst another bud

from its spikes, but the wind didn’t

touch my back, tussle my hair.

It was an empty word and I am empty

like an oil drum rusting

in the fence line of a back field

brittle, dented, more empty

than an excuse given as

an afterthought or permission.

Tonight a dog kissed my wrist.

She was the first to address me

but the night was so deep

she must have thought the air

holds an echo, maybe thought

of someone who had passed

hours before scenting the alley

fence, or an announcement

of a man approaching inside the dark.