The Same Window
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Tattered, Tearful, Threadbare. Tomb words Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
March 9, 2024
She sinks into her threadbare cushion
on the aged-old rocker she huddles in daily
placing her thin-skinned arms
cold to the touch upon the arm rail
darkened from the oil of her skin
Creaks and moans play a tedious rhythmic song
from loosed screws holding the oak rockers
that roll over the rutted floor back and forth
her feet pushing off an upswept floor
as she drifts into her thoughtless doom
It is an everyday sound to her ears
She does not feel its rhythm
or hear the sounds of the day that resonate
from the busy street below
She waits for something she cannot find
day after long day
season to season
year after year
When her heart stops listening to the silence
she watches out the window facing the street
where the sidewalks carry on with life
Her eyes meet unknown faces
that she greets with impenetrable eyes
Her mouth turns down with no utterance of words
In that solitary confinement within
her self-imposed throne
the songbird has lost its song
the sun has faded in its warmth
she sits in a cathedral without god
She has fled with each lonely night
in the darkness that swallowed her dreams
to awaken to one more day at the same window
She has forgotten the sound of her name
There is no one to answer
Copyright © Lonna Blodgett | Year Posted 2024
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