Wednesday, Mar. 05, 2008 @ 8:51 pm
We live on the siren route. Double pained windows. This is the city.
The alarm goes off at seven a.m. At the same time, a float plane in the harbour roars into the air.
I wake early now. The movement of the people, so busy in their lives, makes me feel guilty for being in bed.
Another siren. These are not crime sirens; these are seniors' sirens. I watch them from above, the seniors, on their long walk down the block. More coats than bodies.
I pace the hallway of our new apartment: 50 years old. I'm occupying too much space. My hair has grown so long, too long for my age. My age.
I watched a nurse hold open the door for one of the paramedics. No rush. Were you the one who was here yesterday?
Deep in the night, voices wake me. A couple walks by, arguing their last disagreement. She says,
You have no more chances.