box of jars

heidi shira tannenbaum
She said it again: It's been raining all day.
The bookfaces turned morose
and the people echoed in their readings,
blank mumblings in the darkened shop. 
The gramophone man came in at 5 o'clock
but was listening to the cars treading water.
She took out her purpose and climbed the ladder
to reach for copies of a paperback
that needed replenishing. She slid the stack
back into place and stopped to rest.
The gramophone man did not look up and she could not 
come up with a specific reason why 
he should leave his own empty echoing room. 
On a day like this there was no sound
that could be forced open, 
though her crowbar heart pivoted
away from its loneliness.