Old Country

A saucer of blue flames flares up
under the dark kettle. The night has left a notice
in ice on the kitchen window.

The telephones keep ringing
from long ago. Static chews on the old line.
Somebody eating? Nobody you know.

On the clothesline a white shirt waves
to catch your eye. Eggs blister across the skillet.
You page through the body’s atlas of pain.