He stands at his kitchen window, the one

Above the sink, his thoughts drifting like

The snow that falls outside, shoulders

Hunched from the weight of seventy

Winters, yellowed eyes far away.

He stands there more and more often

As the days go by, likes watching the

Squirrels that have made his small

Backyard their home, but this morning

The old man pays them no mind.

Funny the way memories have of

Sneaking up on you, he thinks, coffee

Forgotten on the small table behind him

And almost cold now, an expression on

His face that speaks of distant fathoms.

She asked me to marry, right under that

Maple tree my Anna did, he says out loud

Without knowing he has done so, something

He’d been doing since she passed on six months

Ago and the minutes had started to creep.

Ah, she was a beauty, my Anna was, always

Flirtin’ with other boys when she knew I was

Lookin’ just to rile me up, and both of us knowin’

Damn well we’d be holdin’ hands at the picture

Show later that very night, sharing popcorn.

He smiles a toothless smile, remembering the

Scandal it caused when word got around that

She’d done all the proposing, and it is a smile

Both weary and somehow timeless, ancient

Yet ageless, like sunbeams in a forest glade.

Last night he had dreamed of her, standing

Beneath that old maple tree, back before he’d

Built this house, her arms outstretched, reaching

For him, her youth restored, long auburn hair

Like fire in the dazzling light that surrounded her.

Then she had spoken to him, just five short

Words that nonetheless summed up the only thing

He desired now, the only thing that still mattered

To him in this house of empty rooms and what she

Said was “Its time to come home”.

He turns away from his kitchen window, the one

Above the sink, cursing himself an old fool, and

Shuffles his way to the living room and his favorite

Chair, knowing he’d probably fall asleep even though

It was still morning, not really caring much.

You are a fool, he says, just an old fool

And eases himself into the chair that used

To be hers but was now his, already half

Asleep before his head touches the backrest,

Breathing a sigh that is barely audible.

And when he reaches the Light, it is beautiful.

END

“Window”