Window Woman

I am a home-lover, not the type
That spends a good part of day
Doing chorus and cleaning
– No !, I’m an appreciator

Of the picket fence, seemingly white as snowflakes
Rounding off the perimeter

And the front doorway and veranda
Cornered with pillars that rise like sequoias

And the roof that falls down
In wavy gradients. trespassing shoulder-walls

And I know firmly, that home is where the heart is
The open doorway, the cobblestone path, the fitting key
Daisies as bright as the Tuscan sun

And at the end of the day, I walk back from work
Knowing that a mahogany door awaits

And I close in, till juxtaposed
And then through her semi-circle arc

When the door is slowly set aback; adrift,
With an affable creaky voice

“Welcome home love”


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