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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,
No one notices this camera, quiet now on the
balcony. Birds fly past, peer into its glass eye. See only
a reflection of themselves.
© Johnmichael Simon
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