A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery. |
the widow sits by the window -- beneath the bay window, slumped in the chair, a lump -- in the easy chair the widow lay beneath the window, the widening hole, a dull glass above a young lass. a widow -- a graying woman delaying in a room bright, a dark gloom, a vault-like tomb, where the widow sits and idles alone, nobody home. though, the window sees a busy street scene, a park opening, people walking their dogs. it’s 80 degrees. you think she would freeze with the a/c on well after dawn, huddling there in the great green chair. is there despair for the widow who sleeps, possibly dreams beneath a streaked scene? the wind always blows. but, whoever knows from outside if she’s alive or if dead, because they can’t even see and she can’t see, because her eyes are closed below the window in her dusty, old chair. has she a care? the widow beneath the window, in such a strange scene, shaded you see beneath a willow tree. the widow beneath that window doesn’t look to see. must be a dream, because I’m not even dead, yet. 7.4.21 47 lines, free verse I had the ending figured out just after the repeating 'widow in the window' mantra went going around in my head, before finally jotting it down, and then all the stuff in that sandwich kept bubbling up, piling on, before I could add that reality at the finish. I won't spoil it for those who might need a second read to understand what I mean by that last line. Note the only capital letter. You guys look for, or notice this stuff, right? Sometimes, I forget that I'm doing it, look back and have to find these things myself. There should be a noticeable narrative with the way the lines start out, like trying to get traction. I might go back and edit the end to alter line positions a little, if nothing else to ease that downhill march to the end of the read. |