There on the hood of the dryer, all hum
and heat, legs folded, she sits like rebar
as if waiting for cement to rain down.
What thrums underneath is all that’s keeping
her alive, that and the corona around her
head that her boyfriend sees when he squints.
All this sound, this thrashing, rises around
her silencing the ache between her ears.
For a moment, she can be still. On the street
with his cigarette, he watches through the window,
the close to silent air humming about his head.
–this poem refers from the word window in the short fiction piece If This is Crazy by Madeline Mora-Summonte