Nora was
looking at the mirror,
Her two
daughters sewing in the porch.
When the wind
shook the house
and the roots
of the apricot trees,
Bringing wild
smells of the black silence
that used
to exist under that roof,
Long before
any man set his foot in,
Nora saw
her animal eyes in the glass.
The sound
of the dry leaves rushed her breath
like the
lost god of her deep darkness
in the room
of solid memories
“Lock the
windows’’ she shouted
And her
daughters ran, ran like jumping little spiders.
image: From the film La Petite (Louis Malle)
