Tableau

Tableaus’ An elderly television speaks to her in a deaf condominium. Her garden is a cluster of cobwebs, it rattles and spins as stiff as the skeletons of the sun. Her ears listen to the world as it ascends into a fairy tale. The dragons are back, the good knights and the bad, she recalls their fictitious deeds, they ride again in her garden of bones; those lovers that have succumbed knit together more daylight dreams. Outside her window anxious gangs of newborn brawlers via for the earths attention. The clatter of arms and the crush of concurrence are hardly noticed at all. From time to time, F.D.R calls but his fireside chats are a dusty furnace long unlit. The condominium cools inside a dark-stockinged twilight then she, unseen and younger, slips into another of her timeworn party dresses.