the windowsill
with rings of coffee
on white paint
a wide window
sealed tight
“When was it that we last saw the sky?”
the occasional soft tap
on the glass
a wasp trying
to get in—
trapped outside
of a different trap
another tap
no, a thud
louder than a wasp
“A bird.”
crushed and still
a hand that grips the windowsill
smoke
that fills our lungs
in an hour
we look again
“The bird is gone.”
©copyright Allison Smidt 2021
No comments:
Post a Comment