Poetry in April -- in celebration
|Sudden sirens in the melting night,
and on my windowsill, three pots,
a flower bowing low, distorted leaves wilting,
proof of my flaws.
I slide the curtain to see
emergency, red lights swirling, turning,
in cadence with men running back and forth
then a gurney lifted into the van.
The window now flung open wide
and my need to know what's outside
and what is wrong with Mrs. Juditz, even if
I didn't take good care of the African Violets
she gave me, hobbling through
her neatly trimmed lawn this Easter.
Afterwards, I lie awake in the night
regretting words I wasn't able to say
regretting and walking away.
What will it be like, the morning
without her sight and who knows
what else my window will expose?
Prompt: Put a window in the poem