A Painting by Max Siegel

It is his loneliest one.
The windows are yellow
with warmth,
but no one can be seen
through them.
And there is no one
outside,
walking the path
or standing on the canvas-wide
expanse of grass.
Off to the left,
another structure is visible,
a garage perhaps,
just the roof
and a bit of white wall.
In front of it,
obscuring all but
that bit of wall and roof,
he has placed a shrub,
as though he wanted
to cover over a mistake,
a failed figure,
two failed figures.

Beautiful Day

It was a beautiful day today. It was mild. There was a breeze, firm but gentle. It pushed the crowns of the trees the way a father pushes a daughter in a swing. The rhododendrens were in bloom. The bees were busy in them. The peonies were starting to unknot. The sky was fresh with bright blue. The clouds were white and soft. They floated like flower petals on the pond of sky. I heard the song of wrens as they sang in their house in the beech.

It was beautiful today. My daughter made beautiful swings in the swing. My wife made beautiful sounds at the piano. I thought beautiful things in the chair on the lawn. I wanted to scream. I screamed a long, loud, one-voweled, unconsonanted scream. Then I screamed a second scream. Then I screamed a third scream.

The telephone rang. It was my neighbor. He wanted to know if everything was all right. I said the day was so beautiful I wanted to scream. He said, Ah, I understand and hung up.

A police car arrived. The officer knocked on the front door. He said he received a report of three loud screams. I said the day was so beautiful I wanted to scream. He said, Ah, I understand and drove away.

A fire truck pulled into my driveway. Three firemen jumped off. They had axes in their hands. They said they got a call about a fire. I pointed to my heart. It was still burning in my chest. They could see the glow through my skin. They said, Ah, we understand and left, leaving me standing there burning and glowing, burning, glowing.