The Bell

The Bell

Sally Thomas

Today is here. Tomorrow’s there. 
Yesterday lies where it fell. 
Time’s a line that points to where
We go. The last tram rings its bell. 
The tracks run into grass. Descend. 
Let’s start walking past the end. 

Yesterday lies where it fell
When our mothers called us in. 
Water’s greening down the well. 
Droning houseflies live in sin. 
Our dogs got loose and ran away. 
Nothing that we love can stay. 

Time’s a line that points to where
We’re going. Can you read the map? 
Cicada songs abrade the air
All afternoon. You need a nap? 
Pull down your hat to shade your eyes
And try to think of lullabies. 

We go — the last tram rings its bell —
Along the blinding boulevard. 
Yesterday lies where it fell. 
Tomorrow’s sunning in the yard. 
Poplars waver in the dust. 
Summers fly where summers must. 

The tracks run into grass. Descend,
Walk barefoot in the shivering green. 
Where are we? Don’t you know? Pretend
That we were born here. Hills, unseen,
Stand tall and blue behind a cloud. 
Late cicadas cry aloud. 

Let’s start walking past the end
Of everything we ever knew. 
Let evening take us by the hand. 
Shadows, like the hills, are blue. 
Yesterday lies where it fell. 
Somewhere the last tram rings its bell. 

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Sally Thomas
Author & Editor

Sally is the author of Motherland and the novel Works of Mercy. She is also the Associate poetry editor at New York Sun.

Photography by Christine Kozak