The crowd at the ball game

beside her on a small tablenear the rank, disheveled bed–Wrinkled and nearly blindshe lay and snoredrousing with anger in her tonesto cry for food,Gimme something to eat–They’re starving me–I’m all right–I won’t goto the hospital.No, no, noGive me something to eat!Let me take youto the hospital, I saidand after you are wellyou can do as…

Out of the dark changeall day longrain falls and fallsas if it would never end.Still the snow keepsits hold on the ground.But water, waterfrom a thousand runnels!It collects swiftly,dappled with blackcuts a way for itselfthrough green ice in the gutters.Drop after drop it fallsfrom the withered grass-stemsof the overhanging embankment.

——————In middle life the mind passes to a variegated October. This is the time youth in its faulty aspirations has set for the achievement of great summits. But having attained the mountain top one is not snatched into a cloud but the descent proffers its blandishments quite as a matter of course. At this the…

Her hair slicked back standingon the streetOne stockinged foot toeingthe sidewalkHer shoe in her hand. Lookingintently into itShe pulls out the paper insoleto find the nailThat has been hurting her

past midnight, a dustof snow caughtin the rigid wheeltracks.The door opens.I smile, enter andshake off the cold.Here is a great womanon her side in the bed.She is sick,perhaps vomiting,perhaps laboringto give birth toa tenth child. Joy! Joy!Night is a roomdarkened for lovers,through the jalousies the sunhas sent one golden needle!I pick the hair from her…

burning, seething–No, no, no.The birches are opening their leaves oneby one. Their delicate leaves unfold coldand separate, one by one. Slender tasselshang swaying from the delicate branch tips–Oh, I cannot say it. There is no word.Black is split at once into flowers. Inevery bog and ditch, flares ofsmall fire, white flowers!–Agh,the birches are mad, mad…