Alphabet of Days (22)

22.

Very hushed now. Shadows animate the room. Darkness, late at the window as though it were the ghost of a woman struck down in the road – a woman I’ve seen, late at night, and I’m by myself – she stands, her right arm pointing toward where the sun will be but she’ll never see – that’s the darkness at my window. Very hushed, very unrelenting. A quivered rush flows up my spine to pool across my skull. Tiny hairs know this moment. Don’t stop. This is the map of my life – folded, hidden behind a drawer. None of us are who we think we are. Eyes closed – that is the truth. Very uneasy now. Wind taps rain against the glass. A talk I recognize. Don’t be fooled by what the thunder says. It has nothing good to say about you, nothing good to say. Now it’s hushed. Eyes closed – this is the moment. Let’s rub the flint of words together and burn a hole –