Like a graceful swan’s neck,
it stands in an arch of white
A clear centrepiece,
a strong witness

I could get used to
seeing the world
one sill at a time,
bordered with white trim

If it could talk,
how it’d delight a crowd!
The stories of
our bay window.

It’d tell you about evening chai
and produce bits of Aloo Bhujia as proof.
How many times it set the stage
for a comical wave goodbye

About late nights working
and early morning walks.
The car pulling out of the driveway
and the neighbourhood kids on their bikes.

But with time, I imagine gets lonely.

The sheet covering the bay seat
no longer needs refolding.
And no new messy writing will
appear along the windowsill.

The window hasn’t been
sat with for ages
And is patterned
with far bigger fingerprints.

I imagine it gets lonely.

If it could talk,
how it’d delight me!
With stories I don’t remember,
stories I’ll never know



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