Evening News in the Other Room

Jane Ozkowski

It might have been people, speaking
in a language we’d never had the time
to learn, but we think it was television,
playing the day in reverse, backwards
flying birds putting the dawn
back into its box, raindrops stitching
themselves to clouds and the
windblown trees unblown
by the great gales that had surprised us
that afternoon. It was night, with the day
a glowing backwards square, playing
all over again in the apartment next door.

 

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