Thursday, May 15, 2008

tweed coat

In my neighborhood I pass a man in a tweed coat. I've seen him before, standing in the intersection swinging an umbrella at cars. Today though he is standing on the sidewalk, looking out at nothing at all.

On the platform it's raining, and a dragonfly is trying to land. The wind catches and carries it out and up and up. Or maybe it flies.

The man in the tweed coat does not seem to be waiting for anything. He seems caught between two worlds that cut across each other like slats in the bench that cannot even hold his umbrella. As though he was picked up mid-trajectory and brought here by the wind, only just sometimes swinging his umbrella at all of us who don't understand.

I try to sound out his sounds. But he is mute here, like the ostriches whose message Tamina cannot understand. He is opening and closing his mouth, his words have no sound.