her bedroom window

she sits at the window of her room
walls painted blue
looking past the sky’s perfection
seeing everything at once and nothing at last
beside her the telephone makes no sound
no welcome
though she is dressed, like every day before sunset,
in her finest silks
her beauty has faded like the now indigo horizon
streaked with reminders of pastel cashmere

one by one the windows close by
glow a deep yellow

she will wait patiently until the midnight chimes
of the grandfather clock on the landing
oh, she has dined, alone again
set out a plate of milk for the black and white cat
and read the evening newspaper, skipping the editorials
the fireplace still casts lively shadows
on her walls, painted blue, but
yesterday’s flowers are beginning to wilt
petals litter the lace tablecloth underneath

one by one the deep yellow lights
blink out
without even a most sudden excuse of “goodnight”

the coals lose their warmth
and heavily, her eyes close
resigned, she lets hope infiltrate
her dreams
how vain are her thoughts of love
for she has only ever revealed her heart
to an ever waning moon

one by one her tears stain the pillowcase
his gentle hand closed the window once, years ago


her bedroom window
[2009.23.1…a]