Playroom

Wheel of sorrow, centerless. Voices, sad without cause, slope upward, expiring on grave summits. Mournfulness of muddy playgrounds, raw smell of rubbers and wrapped lunches when little girls stand in a circle singing of windows and of lovers. Hearing them, no one could tell why they sing sadly, but there is in their voices the pathos of all handed-down garments hanging loosely on small bodies.