The Glass.

...the cut up stuff, close to the aperture, collage, creative writing, doorways, mirror, poetry

I purr her name

deliciously,

but dare not turn the page

to read the words,

preferring to believe

the past is present in the future.

I heard her playing

yesterday

beneath the window,

but the room, of course,

was empty;

not even the piano.

*

She walked among the flowers

depicted on the wall. She wished

the curtains closed so she

wouldn’t see the lawn

or his face appearing,

briefly, at the glass.

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20 thoughts on “The Glass.”

    1. Ha, yes, I suppose it is – I seem unable to escape my subjects (and why should I?). You are spot on, of course, Ingrid. Coincidentally, or not, I joined a creative journaling class last week – which is right up my strasse, naturally, and hopefully will kickstart me! Thank you xo

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