Sveta sits in her apartment
staring absently at a white screen,
filing her chartreuse manicured nails,
playing with possibilities
in arcs.
……………………….
Somewhere a woman
wearing mortician’s makeup
boards a long distance train
with a Prada bag, inside
an unread Christie novel.
The train pulls out,
she watches factories,
back alleys,
green verges choked
with morning glory
give way to open fields.
A swaying motion,
the train slows,
she looks up
from Murder She Wrote.
She looks through
sliding windows
into another train,
a couple kissing,
his hand upon her breast,
a child pulls faces
to scare the Bogey Man,
a man strangles a woman,
she blinks, someone soon
will get ten thousand dollars
deposited in his bank.
Marousia 