washing windows
a poem for the volunteer always wiping down our windows
Hi friend,
Finally, after what seems like forever, I have a new poem for you. I actually have a small queue of poems ready, though I’m not sure all of them will make it to publication… I suppose only time will tell :)
This poem is about a woman who volunteers at my workplace. At my job, I work a lot with volunteers. This one volunteer in particular always takes a moment (or several) to clean the windows on the front door. I found myself watching her one day. I could hear the door make a noise every time she stepped outside and came back inside, and stepped outside, and came back inside again. It was just one of those mundane moments of people-watching that felt… special, somehow. There was magic in her repetition.
It also reminded me that there are no rules to poetry. You can write about anything you want. A flower. A sunset. Or, a kind person cleaning windows!
washing windows
it started again;
i thought she stopped.
the door squeaks
and then it closes
and then it opens
and then it closes.
she takes the journey
with paper in balls,
in palms,
in hand.
sunlight streaks
and changes by the hour,
sharing new pathways
of grime and dust,
just when she
thought it was smooth.
and so she gets up
and starts again,
and stops again,
to inspect her work.
and so the door squeaks,
it closes and opens,
and she sits back down,
and then she stands up again.
very excited to be writing again. i hope it will continue for a while <3
as always, thanks for being here. grateful for you :)
see you soon!
emma