We interrupt the French Revolution for a moment in time.
Standing in my driveway looking left at my neighbor’s house this morning.
Behind my house, joining me for coffee.
And looking right from my driveway as these three seek shade from the oppressive heat and humidity under my oak tree.
Momma would dust the venetian blinds
every Saturday morning
open and close them
with a pull of the cord
watching the world blink
appear, disappear and change
reappearing the same yet slightly different.
Now cranes appear through open blinds
unafraid messengers of a sort
spying from their perch, all stilt and neck;
do they despise us or think we are ugly
thick of leg and round of head
unable to dance?
I have left the city
where people cannot love themselves
to live among the cranes
promenading quietly passed blinded windows
treating me indifferently
as I revel in the accomplishments of quiet.