Waiting Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

From the kitchen window at the back
she watched the adjacent shaded cul-de-sac,
listening for the sound of tyres crunching stone:
all day long she’d been at home alone.

He’d be coming soon, she told herself again
and watched the windows weeping in the rain.
She put the kettle on to make some tea.
Watched shadows dancing under the cherry tree.

Despair and joy were now changing so fast,
confusing images of the present past:
he walked towards her through the open door
and kissed her as he had so many times before.

The kettle hissed till its whispering throat was dry
and it was empty as her empty eyes.
The house was silent, and the gentle rain
kept falling down the weeping window panes.