by Elmer Santiago
With broom in hand, I sweep the courtyard
of the trash from the party of the night before.
The sweeping broom is the only sound
except for that party's echoing laughter and whispers.
The courtyard was teaming with life just hours before
and still holds a faint residue of that energy.
I wonder how long it takes for a laugh to melt away.
How long can a courtyard hold it?