The Window
By Lucy M
Published 28 August 2016
at the start
the window merely existed
for the sun to see through
a swathe of glass between the room and the clouds
the window was there
from mist
to morning
from sunday
to dawn
an eye to the simple suburbia beyond
on heavy floods
the garden would press against the window
wisps of vine
curling on tear streaked glass
it saw many mornings
the blinds unfurling for the light to sing through
a velvet curtain lifted for the stage
the audience waiting
begin!
soon it became an antidote
ran to in times of trouble
a hand pressed firmly against the view
fog creeping on glass
but this daybreak
it is magnificent
through sleepy eyes
the 6am light slanting through the glass
a bluish hue
of bamboo and dancing gleam
swaying on timber
there is
a river of light bubbling through the room
colours only conjured in her dreams
of silk, of vanilla
of glitter, and lace
blush and peach and salmon and feather
of coffee and chakra
a domestic paradise
something never before seen
through the window.