From a Balcony

From a balcony, the same scene, each frame

a season of forgetting. How a red tractor

thrashes golden hay into bundles. Birds hopping

behind, pecking impressionists. And in the distance

an undisturbed river, paddle boats, children

fishing for carp with bent pins and worms.

 

From a balcony, the same scene, high rises stretch

upwards, pushing shoulders each to be taller. They

have built a parking lot next to the funeral building, buses

depart to places in the city, shopping centers prowled

by security guards.

 

The old cemeteries are full. Buses are rerouted to

new ones. Rows of graves, walkways, freshly planted

trees. Small gatherings walk past flower sellers. Only

my window remains black. Mourners chat about politics,

scandals, cheap holidays in Barcelona, grandchildren,

old friends.

 

No one notices this camera, quiet now on the

balcony. Birds fly past, peer into its glass eye. See only

a reflection of themselves.

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© Johnmichael Simon

2012

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