The Face in the Window
It is midnight, and I am doing a final walk in the house for the night,
picking up forgotten books,
straightening sofa pillows,
looking in on my dear children
fast asleep in their beds,
the moon peering down
upon them through a
crack between
window and window shade
a crease of light
haloing their heads
as they sigh in their sleep --
my little treasures.
Interestingly enough, I went into my blog archives after typing this poem to see if perhaps I HAD perhaps posted the original on March 10, 2005. I had, but it was slightly different, no doubt revised as I typed it on my blog.
Poetry in Mo...o...o...o...tion
On one of the blogs that I like to read, Jack's Shack, Jack posts snippets of fiction-in-progress. So I decided this morning to take his example and post a poem that I started to write last night -- ahem, I mean this morning at about 12:10. But I had to stop because I was literally falling asleep at the wheel -- keyboard -- as I was typing. So here, for your reading pleasure, is the start of "The Face in the Window."
The Face in the Window
It is midnight, and I am doing a final walkabout in the house.
Picking up forgotten books, straightening sofa pillows, securing the
dog for the night.
I look in on my dear children, fast asleep in their beds,
a sliver of moon peering down upon them through a crack between
window and window shade,
a crease of light
haloing the heads
of these little treasures as they sigh in their sleep.
I lock the front door, then glance out the beveled side window at
the snow beyond.
The yellowish light in front of the house casts a warm glow,
beckoning me out of doors.
But I cannot wander out, although it might be nice to pirouette on
the front lawn amidst the white down feather blanket of snow.
posted by torontopearl at 3/10/2005 08:55:00 AM
