I could see a woman
through an open window.
She was busy chopping up fish
for some kind of stew;
chopping off the heads
and throwing the bodies into a big pot
on the stove.
There were roses on the table,
a teapot with no shine left.
There was a television set
with the picture on
and the sound turned off.
There were doorways behind the woman
leading to rooms.
I wanted to go inside,
to be with her,
to be there chopping fish heads for stew
or listening to the sound of no sound,
watching an old movie
end happily or never end.