Three o'clock

Three o'clock: the maple tree
casts a forked shadow on the lawn
under the streetlight.
Each solitary car that passes
leaves jarring echoes in our sleep.
Across the street, the fire in the parked car
is out, the firefighters gone.
The neighbors, startled from their beds
by the light and noise, have drifted back inside,
perhaps lying restlessly and thinking of their children,
their ears refusing to fall asleep.
We, too, lie uneasily. Every creak and rustle
sounds like things crumbling, shattering,
quietly but much too near.


Joanne Epp
Ottawa ON

Have you seen the writing on the wall

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