Wednesday, July 10, 2013

death in the lane

 the soil was freshly turned
the seedlings ready for planting
she glances up from her digging
and sees the blue car in the lane
oddly parked against the brambles
no one is in the driver's seat
but a dog pops up from behind
waiting for its owner

she bends to spot her tomatoes in 
one long calibrated row

at noon, she goes into the house
but loud sirens lure her back out
firemen run by carrying wood blocks
while paramedics stand helplessly 
around the blue car

she sees the dog is still in the car
barking behind the closed windows
the body lying on the ground
under a white blanket

in the dusty lane behind her house
on a most unwary summer's day
before the long weekend

"The adult consciousness of the ego,
of our present identity,
of our feelings of joy and solitude,
of what can be done and what we'll finally do
or of the world situation
is like the sudden fright that cars
produce when they plough through a field,
like the dirty deed of taking advantage
of people who show signs of weakness,
like when we feel naked, lacking in faith,
and out of contact with others..."*

[* excerpt from "Four Lane Road, 1956" by Ernest FARRE in Edward Hopper: Poems, 2006 -  translated from the Catalan by Lawrence Venuti]

For the late A.C. - a neighbour whom I have only seen walking her dogs.

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