You fling it open for the first time/ but I’m goneM Kahf ~ Wall
Why did you always keep the window closed?
What did you fear? I’m asking – look – she’s
barefoot in the field, she’s dusty,
arms scratched, squinting at the sun.
Didn’t you notice she was always gazing
out of the window? That she itched and twitched
in rhythm with the blackbird, that she sighed.
Was it the sound of sunlight that you hated?
Or the scent of bees? or the blue screaming
of the sky? Tell me. I’m waiting.
For Laura at dVerse. Thinking about how we end poems. Laura gives us lines to springboard from and use as epigraph