The Audience

the young girl cries

she met a man once in a while

arranged her hair for him

that’s all she ever did

 

the old woman looks at her 

heavy in her armchair

cleaning rearranging her spectacles

answering first to her

then to the audience the walls

thought the young one

why were there walls in that conversation

 

the old woman broods carefully

her words

my dear didn’t you know a baby dies

when it doesn’t cry

 

the young woman stares

she seems to blend with the white paint

mostly on the line between ceiling and walls

 

why is the other one crying she thinks

this is only my conjunctivitis

says the old woman

 

the lonely one leaves 

two steps at a time

her secrets swayed carefully

in another woman’s lap