Adagio

A drift of blue in a homeless sky, the piercing screamsin summer, so loud and regular, butterflies flutterto the tune, a screen door instrumental, the whineof the door, how it opens in the mind, the poundingstep of a man’s heavy boots, his bellow, her screams. Peoplegather to see the disco begin, red and blue lights swirlinglike blood like a bruise like a choreographed performance,the men in blue, so many, so much, it turnsinto a ballet of all tragic figures meant to appear elegantand gentle, swarming in swarming out, the sisters hold handsdescending the stairs while a police officer carries a blacktrash bag—cruel Santa Claus, he has tossed their pink clothesinto a sack to take them away. From the police carwindow they look back to see the world as if it were capturedin a snow globe, the scene getting clearer, almost fixed with distance,their street, their house, all the neighbors, rapt audience, the glass is coldon the little sister’s pressed hand; she begs and screams sopranofor her mother—still laid out on the living room floor. Silencetakes them to rooms in houses that don’t know the violent shake of chance.