I wrote this poem as part of a course about 18 months ago. The challenge was to base a poem on the view from the nearest window. Mine was a skylight.
An Attic View
I treat windows as mirrors
I see only sky.
An open patch of grey on grey
The sound of blinding light
An arrow pointing right
Beside, around, above me.
It is a sign,
A godsent omen
Of the hollow empty feeling
The cabin in my chest.
How much of that is loneliness.
How much just me?
I fill it anyway I can
With birds and words and tea.
The sunken coffee smell
Connects me to you
With a white trail, a straight cloud scar
Slashed the cheek of silver in broken two.
When I was in my falsest form
I would fly the metal bird
Up high, cased in recycled air
My corpse against the window,
Aching to get out, be there.
Instead I watch from down below,
Reaping what some others sow.
My bones are aching but to grow.
Growth is the flying feeling.
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