photoart: sharon auberle
WITH THE
WINDOW OPEN
by
Ronald Baatz
With
the window open
you
can hear piano music
softly
coming from the house
like
bread thrown to birds.
The
night is calm, except for
some
bright thunder that
accompanies
the falling leaves.
Part
of the mountain ash tree
is
dead, though the music she plays
may
turn it into firewood.
I
could hide in the dark
of
the barn, to rip the
skin
from my thumbs.
The
place is no longer used,
but
then neither is the north star.
The
situation surprises me,
as
does a dream.
My
blood has turned to ashes,
caught
in a woman’s long hair
like
confetti or dried
and
broken leaves.
~
first published in Shenandoah (1974)
