the death of normality on a friday afternoon

Unknown portraits of women crying in the 19th century.

the friday silence
was enough to make
the bending of the grass
in the afternoon
stillness
a symphonic screech,
the creak
of a thousand floorboards
the scratch
of a thousand bows
against a thousand violins.
she took a paper bag
and held it.
an arcane wind
blew from the south,
a thousand winters
whipped
into a whirlwind,
to shake the starlings
from their dance.

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3 thoughts on “the death of normality on a friday afternoon

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