The clothesline squeaks as the neighbor from across the courtyard pulls and pins their laundry up, wet underwear and T-shirts in the breeze, and a July sun. I work at this window, from morning until night, punctuated by glimpses of these women with private expressions, as laundry is put out, the world on their mind, sometimes the face of a child looking out, as the lines squeal their little song. I like this idea that for their clothesline to work, it needs us at the other end. Literally, holding up our end.
A wonderful piece of writing. You created a microcosm - a tiny world not defined by place names or ethnic identifiers. I think many of us can relate to those old people who take the time to meet neighbors and kids. Maybe we knew people like that and, looking back, we envy them and their serenity.
Oh, Marco! This is so beautiful. It's a poem and movie and a Russian novel all at once. Just perfect. I teared up because your work often makes me tear up, but also, you make the world small. You give me these women as neighbors or friends. Suddenly, I miss people. You remind me that goodness is still out there. Bravo!
A wonderful piece of writing. You created a microcosm - a tiny world not defined by place names or ethnic identifiers. I think many of us can relate to those old people who take the time to meet neighbors and kids. Maybe we knew people like that and, looking back, we envy them and their serenity.
Oh, Marco! This is so beautiful. It's a poem and movie and a Russian novel all at once. Just perfect. I teared up because your work often makes me tear up, but also, you make the world small. You give me these women as neighbors or friends. Suddenly, I miss people. You remind me that goodness is still out there. Bravo!
I hear hope in your words and it’s a beautiful sound ❣️