Little Window

 

This little, confident shadow of yours

makes me wonder every dusk who this

workaholic is, whose room is

never fully dark, never fully bright.

 

Your voice every night saying

“Mum, I’m working, I will eat later!”

Will I recognise you if our paths cross?

 

Watching you is a spectacle, an artwork,

the gigantic branches making their floaty

leaves flirt with your window frame,

you, and your whole kingdom.

 

You being standstill in the middle with

the dark silhouette of your table lamp

makes me wonder: if tomorrow our paths meet,

will I know that I observe you every night?

 

Born on a 13, Jenny Cruz started writing poems at 31. She adores cooking, television and palindromes.

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