She expects smoke creeping toward her through the shorn trees.
She won’t be surprised to feel the floor tremble,
to open the door and find scraps floating along the biting gust—
palm-size remnants, a congregation of charred color.
She waits for retreat of engines gaining elevation, and the screams,
the screams melding into stadium rumble.
Yet children are walking to school. A boy steals
his friend’s cap and runs away. The neighbor exits
his door at 8:02 a.m. as usual and folds into his car. A flock
of sparrows play harmony
to forsythia that must have bloomed overnight. Another
Monday with its pent-up trepidations,
its lamentations for the lost weekend, its stored chance for an hour,
a moment to catch the eye of another,
to delve into the sheen that is starting to spread toward her.
An ordinary day she would have passed by
but for this debt. This lease she can only repay by grabbing
what was taken without recourse.
Musical composition by Victor David Sandiego