Curtains
by Maggie Mitchell
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I stand at the window
As you tumble on the grass like a litter of puppies
Sweaty and popsicle stained.
I dry my hands on a dish towel and
My heart smiles.
I stand at the window
As the radio panics
And the sky turns chlorine green.
I gather you under my wings and play camping while
My heart heaves a force field around you.
I stand at the window
As you pull away backing down the driveway,
Age 16 years and 20 minutes.
I try to read or knit or fake sleep but
I check the window till I see your light.
My heart can wipe its brow.
I stand at the window
As I watch for the mailman to bring me letters, from where?
You can't e-mail from the trenches.
I try to be the breezy, cheerful mother-in-law.
But I have no patience for "give Mom my love."
My heart frantically waves a white flag.
I stand at the window
As I wait for carloads of grandchildren.
I understand. I think this place smells funny, too.
There's nothing for me to do either.
That's why I wait for you.
My heart--the last leaf on the winter branch--closes the curtains.
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