quarantine from a new york window

Photo by Anthony Fomin on Unsplash

every morning, the two birds on the branch outside my window glance down at the empty avenue below. they seem to recognize the desolation, and speak a little more quietly as a result. or maybe they’re gossiping about the man who’s always sweeping his stoop as the sun rises, brushing invisible dust with the precision of a calligrapher. he hasn’t had a visitor in months, of course. but he’s always ready. i, too, think it’s…