From Between the Pickets
She waits by the fence
A gentle breeze through her skirt
She waits by the fence
Aimlessly shifting her toes in the dirt
She waits by the fence
Birds overhead silently southward fly
She waits by the fence
Wiping tears from her eyes, God damn him, why
She waits by the fence
Minutes to hours, hours to day, days become a week
She waits by the fence
The sun slipping east, the warmth on her cheek
Turning to leave, her yard, her purpose, her fence
Her eyes meet the one’s that left her sometime hence
The sky orangish pink with a border of robin’s egg blue
No words are spoken, not certain that it is true
And still the fence waits
Copyright © Christian Collins | Year Posted 2007
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