Windows In Our Hands
A short prose poem
Published in
Apr 17, 2022
Strange chatter and decorative dishes distracted us from the inevitable we’d rather not accept.
I found my eyes searching for anything to hold on to as our words fumbled to place in order what we usually do.
The bold nights, confessional safelights, all like sisters do.
Our minds fixated on a flight for one, back to her hometown, miles and miles overseas.
Time has expired and this land no longer held its ground, so we took to an arms clasp and forbid the goodbyes with, I’ll see you soon.
Now our hands hold windows to watch the years pass, sending letters of admiration at our faces scrolling through fragile glass.
Kyla Sawyer 2022
