Thank God for rain.. (there was no possibility of them doing any work today).

 

A woman, with a cap, the nape of her neck, tender and brittle like wood,, it clings to her like a rope, as if she will swing, and with it, everything will eb broken, shoved up into the eaves, where the fires, move and crack, where the combustibles wait their tutn,, crouched together watching for the black man below, the one who is finally climbing the stairs, as the first oen creeks, waiting for him to kick it all down. with each new rembembering, from the embers, of where the thing happened, the forgotten, incidences he inhabited before, Staring att he white squatre, as he trieds to get in. MB