Window Pane

He steps left, she looks right

We're all scars, collections of wounds inside and out
He shows his in words, she shows hers on her body
There's no exhibition here, merely a statement of being
This is who they are, call them phonies, it doesn't matter
None of this was ever for you anyway.

He hops a plane to Virginia without foresight or concern
There's a baby crying in the cabin that speaks life
Getting out of the terminal in a downpour he flags a cab
He pays extra so he can smoke in the taxi on the drive
The last thing he needs is oxygen.

She's waiting anxiously in bed with the words on the walls
Her phone hasn't rang, all she does is check the time
Fingers tapping nervously on thighs, on scars, in rhythm
Will today be the most momentous occasion it should?
She licks dry lips, waits as always.

The squealers on the worn brakes signal the end of journey
He overpays because he needs something good on his side
Make a happy stranger for a half decade long disappointment
Alone in the rain, a bag, a cigarette, a man, a front door
What is he supposed to do now?

She heard the taxi three blocks away with her sixth sense
Eyes wired shut she awaits the sound of a car door slam
Slam.  It's really here, there's no turning back from right now
Eyes pop open and pupils constrict, dilate, adjust to light
Bare feet walk over to window pane.

He sees her in the window, she looks normal, living, real
She sees him in the street, he seems alert, alive, human
She bites her lip, He clenches his jaw, eyes speak volumes
A curtain whirls, a moment passes, a door opens slowly
A step forward, a universe reborn.

Author's Note

blah sum frundle umpin ekins, bret? Flar groggins pash von singun pat!

Reviews

[_mal]

There is such a story here, you pack so much into such a small space. Always leaves me thinking

[_mal]

So glad to see you here again. This is interesting, your work always makes me slightly uncomfortable because I relate, because the way you write sometimes is from such a distance but so close