Contents of the next boxcar
We both had such intense responses that morning when we woke
to smoke pouring through our open bedroom window. It was winter
and snow had been falling all night. That always made us sleep
better than usual, sometimes even allowed reprieve for xem from
the haunts.
When we stood up to try and track the smoke, we saw piles of
wicker furniture igniting in the alley behind our house. We
watched out the window as the snow fell and the wicker furniture
burned. That these things happened simultaneously seemed miraculous
to us, our mouths hanging, but so as hinged and not slack.
There, on the threshold where hot and cold were mixing, we
noted together that we felt like the window was a mirror, making
it possible for us to see ourselves reflected to us. What do
the offspring of a window look like? When peering through it
are we a window's offspring? Is a window or something that enables
view, one of revelations' many hearts?
