The Door

by Petr Hruška

Petr Hruška

The door always used to swing shut, by itself, for years and years, with measured haste.

Now it stands utterly still.

Next to it, a woman guiltily picks up a large undershirt that fell from the line overnight. A man watches the woman with the shirt. Probably the wind. During the night.

Both would like to know when, when exactly it happened. Both would like to be in that moment.

Last updated September 19, 2022