Susan Lacovara (1963 / New York)
Watching Windows, From Afar
So many windows, I walk past
each day, from different directions,
towards different destinations...
What lies behind them...
Those, with the fancy floral valances,
fluttering in an afternoon breeze
behind the whitewashed shutters
of suburban life
Do they open to reveal an overcooked meal
made by an overworked single mother...
And who sits, silently starring out,
from the half-closed blinds
that cover the broken window pane
Someone neglected to replace...
What happens inside the house
where the bedroom light is always on...
Is there someone waiting for someone's return
Or are they merely afraid of the dark...
Still I wonder....
Is the steam on the glass,
to the window,
on the right...
from a too-long-of-a-day shower,
for a father whose paycheck, again falls short
or is the furnace turned up so high
just to warm the aged bones of a grandmother
too long, left alone...
Might there be a newlywed couple,
In that pretty painted country cottage...
Their private port holes, laces with rows
of perfectly potted pansies
as they propose their endless love...
Watching windows, from afar...
Did I forget to close mine.....
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