Poetry Thursday

This Window

I sit on the inside of this window
doing piece-work: woodcut, quilt square,
the shape of things to come.

Next door, you putter,
running water. Soon you will bring me
coffee, years before I need it.

Outside in the twilight,
a child playing some street game
calls: come closer

as the bark on the tree
darkens with evening and the last
light empties from a curve of sky.

I have been smelling coffee
all my life. Cold and so much
older when you bring me some,

I sit on the inside
of this window, close
as I can come.

-Candice Ward

I have recently noticed that a lot of the poems I like are about loneliness and isolation. It makes me feel like I need to state for the record that I don't generally feel very lonely or isolated. I think I'm usually a very optimistic and upbeat person. I don't know why my taste in poetry is so contrary.

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