Window Vigil Poem by Diana van den Berg

As motionless as a cold stone statue,
she sat on the window seat,
chin on hands,
with saddened eyes
gazing through the closed window,
imagining him running up the path
to sweep her into his arms again,
but, how silly she was,
she thought to herself,
of course, he wouldn’t,
so,
forlornly,
she picked herself up
and,
with one last glance
willing the indifferent glass
to frame his form,
she turned away
and with sorrowed steps
she left the room
and slowly
oh, so slowly
as though thrice adream
she entered the kitchen
to put the kettle on
for one.

(21 July 2011)