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Looking through a window
Folder:
2001 I sit here looking
through a window
on the outside
looking in.
A couple of old flower pots
bottles of detergent
other odds and ends that don't have any other place to go
except for the window sill of a laundry room.
All around me there is noise
Buses and cars pass by on the street
The air conditioner whirs
The garden hose in front of me is slowly dripping.
I can just make out through the dusty pane of glass,
and old vase
and in it a bouquet of paper flowers;
the tissue paper is faded
the flowers are drooping
(lack of water?)
but a bright patch of colour here or there suggests they were brighter once;
that they knew brighter times.
Where is the child who made those flowers
who painstakingly put each flower onto a pipe cleaner
and wrapped them all in paper?
She has not faded along with her flowers,
But she has hidden,
still making paper flowers,
hoping one day to let their brightness emerge once more.
