Orientation

Standing tall,
or hunched over the work,
backs aching,
poring over the pages,
assessing the charts,
are these students of Earth U.

In this library no noise exists,
save for the gentle rustling
of pages, of leaves,
silent as their branches reach for the answers to the mysteries of the universe.

The fire, once burning hot,
has died down,
like a lover grown cold,
her back to you.
Only the crackling, ember muttering
of heated words under her breath
can be heard.

The owl addresses us,
calls down to us, accusing.
Who? Whooo??
Lacking a response,
her irritation increases.
She is a roommate dwelling among a houseful of people, a probing parent,
inquiring who drank the last of her milk,
who broke the window of the peeling red shed.

Eyes lock to the floor,
no response,
just the careless flipping of magazine pages,
the hesitant shuffling of feet.
I lie there, also without response,
and somehow I feel guilty.

And then I close my eyes,
lids heavy from my own study of the universe,
guilty, for perhaps it was I who drank the last of the milk.

Author's Note

Just putting it out there...