THEY ANNOUNCE Poem by Michelle Grangaud

They announce the
flight coming in
from Barcelona at gate thirty-two.

She's strechted out
on her back, on the grass.
She thinks she's falling watching the sky.

On the scaffolding
swayed by the wind
he's whistling away repainting the wall of the apartment building.

A school bus
fell
into a ravine : 6 killed and 22 injured.

She has broken the
thermometer to
play with the globules of quicksilver.

He blows on the
iron filings.
The noise of the machine penetrates the helmet.

The department store
is closing. The sales clerks
are quickly leaving via the service door.

During dinner,
the news :
area of wreckage from the earthquake.

The child wakes up
and perceives
that once more he has wet his bed.

She says good evening
in a very hoarse way
like someone sobbing inexplicably.

He remains two hours
in front of the pinball machine
clinging to it, teeth clenched.

After dinner,
it's television
again. She's knitting as she watches.

He's crouched
on the step
and it's written on cardboard that he's hungry.

She didn't hear
him coming.
Starts as she feels his hand on her shoulder.

He places two fingers under
the newborn's
armpits to ease it from the womb.

The car, after
slewing around and
rolling over twice, lands on the slope.

They hold each other's
arms, and move
forward, as they are talking, their white canes.

He always puts a
bunch of violets
in front of his wife's picture. He's a widower.

The young girl
hides behind
the door and falls asleep. People find her. And laugh.

He opens his eyes,
Recognizes nothing.
Has forgotten everything. Only remembers one word : Yes.

It's dark and cold.
She's walking quickly.
Behind her a man's footsteps still sound. She's afraid.

The father really loves
his little daughter. He likes
tweaking her chubby cheeks. He's hurting her.

She turns the
wooden spoon about
in the translucent red jam.

The curve kills
or injures, year in
year out, its score of drivers.