Out the Back Door

Grey skies in March as I walk through the littered yard. The grass is brown. No one sees me except the man across the alley loading scrap into his pick-up. We talk weather— snow two days ago today mist and rain while we bear the weight of our lives. He says he’s laid off but hopes to return soon. I talk about lost love and an empty heart. We agree we want to reclaim our lives— the calendar says spring. A heavy piece of metal thrown thuds unto his truck and he says Another day another dollar. I say All the world’s a stage before I hop into my car but no one else is around. On a quiet morning bare trees near the ravine at the end of the alley raise their weary arms. I allow a moment to watch.