Women Behind Windows

Woman in a Window by unknown artist

In this quiet town,

On this early morning,

When leaves are painted

On the horizon,

And eyes are yet

Blind with sleep, and dry,

And a cat is stalking a sparrow,

Meowing obscenely,

Clambering onto shiny cars

And slippery rooftops, 

And into gated gardens

And cloistered mansions,

And sunlight is filtering

Through the shroud of dawn,

A woman in a white dress

Leans upon a windowsill,

On elbows that have known

Other windows in other times,

And looks out into her garden,

Into another woman’s garden,

And that other woman’s window,

A woman who,

In this quiet town,

On this early morning,

While leaves and eyes

And cats and sunlight

Are doing their do’s,

Is setting her breakfast table:

Bread and butter and honey

And milk and bananas and berries,

While the rising sun makes

Painted glass out of the sky;

But a sudden storm swings by,

Shards of liquid ice and

The jerky dance of maples,

Whose silhouettes come alive

In blinked illuminations,

While the woman in her white dress

And the other at her kitchen table

Neither see nor hear

These visits from nature,

As one’s eyes are focused

Upon herself,

And the other’s eyes are focused

Upon the other;

They are hearing another music

Seeing with another eye:

Yearning and birth,

Liberation and death,

And the gratifying memories

Of that first house,

The house where, once upon a time,

They were little girls,

Never lingering behind windows

But always beyond them;

And from this muted recall,

A sliver of white light

Becomes full spectrum,

Blinding color on glass windows

That close… and enclose

forgotten time... and lost echoes.