Small and birdlike, she perches
high up among citron-green buds,
welcomes spring from her tiny balcony.
She hears her neighbor's low buzz,
their dinner dishes clattering,
children's excited thumping, dog barking,
six o'clock news murmuring.
Inside her apartment,
the seductive voice of Juliette Greco
sings Sous le ciel de Paris.
Her chair faces the dying sun;
cold, she shivers vaguely,
tugs her thick sweater close around
fusty, old lady shoulders.
A tot of rum in hand,
she toasts new miracles.
This apartment building is in our neighborhood.
I love the way the green chair stands out
so I took this photo and made up a story
about the unknown occupant . . .
1 comment:
Great imagery, Marianne. There is a hink of loneliness in this poem.
Love,
Pammy
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