The woman stands naked before us,
but we’ve lost our desire
to look. Whether morning chill,
or mere ennui, she makes us want to turn
and run away, go out and start a life
like nothing she’s shown us here:
rumpled bed, empty basin, tattered chair.
But soon we’re climbing the same creaky stair,
disgruntled, older, spent, and there she is—again--
staring out the window, and still
revealing nothing of the way she feels.
We’re left to guess her casual human complaint,
the world she’s turned once more to face.
Or maybe it’s us she’s turned on,
ready at last to fix the bed, or her hair,
then maybe she’ll hear the key jiggle the lock
just when she figured we’d gone for good.
Will she unleash a smile our way?
We think she couldn’t live without us,
but we’d only wilt in the heat
of such easy compliance.
—
previously appeared in Verse-Virtual
Williams College Art Museum
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