In the quietness between

before and after, the girl

unspools her broken thread,

addressing the problem

of time she has lost.

 

Abstracted, briefly,

from her routine,

her posture is that

of a handmaid or lover

bestowing her intimate gift.

 

Yet kneeling there,

on her own, she is like

an ingénue, taking in

some visitant’s

otherworldly news.

 

Her arms stretched

before her, she seems

to be playing invisible strings,

a harp whose cadences fade

into the noise beyond her.