It's 4:55. I'm sitting down and all I'm doing is watching TV, but she asks, "Where are you going?"
"Fajã," I reply.
"What time?"
"Pretty soon."
"Later? What hour?" She points to the 7 on the wall clock. "This hour?"
I shake my head no.
She points to the 6. "This hour?"
I point to the 5. "This hour."
"Oh," she says, and walks away.
2 comments:
did you intend this to be a poem? because that's how I read it, and it's really quite lovely.
:-) I don't know why, but this made me very happy.
Post a Comment