from "The Chiming of the Hour", Dan Albergotti
"The is the gray day that the Lord hath made.
She hears the soft, rapid ticking of the clock
beside her bed and how it mingles with
the bells outside. The woman does not know
why the wind chimes sound altogether different
in the winter months. She does no know
what puts her in her navy dress and heels,
behind the wheel of her husband's old sedan,
and into the pew they sat in all those years."
She does not know why she chooses
the color blue for her bedroom,
"seaside mist" to be specific, in
semi-gloss. Something brings her
to wicker weaving, simple chairs
with light, linen cushions, and chests
sanded down, corners rusted by time.
She hears the soft, rapid fluttering
as a mixture of snow, hail, and rain
fall outside her old Chicago bricks.
What drove her to law school in
the middle of a city whose trademark
grey-and-white birds are pigeons?
She leans over her fifth-floor
balcony when the salt trucks pass,
closing her eyes, imagining
the oily, melted ice to be the
friendly sea, the salty scent
foaming into the air, catching
the breeze and leaving a thin,
dusty layer on sun-worn skin.
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