Windows
1. Windows Are Not Doors
What passes each way through them
(light, longing) is part of the job
They don't
have to budge an inch
2. Their Frames Are Like Ours
Shows of strength: top surface
of lintel and sill and the edge of a wall
Its 2x4 end-frame sticking out (just a little)
all of it
Joined by putty. disguised
by paint in a gesture of grace:
That essential
that necessary skin—will this
Little one nursing at my breast ever
have any idea of what lies underneath?
3. Shocks of Moving the House
Paint on the outside trim
cracking like years of assumptions
Layer on layer: all those versions of
what we thought were our strengths.
4. Intimate as Repair
Each frame I've come to know by touch
Top layer of paint the easiest off with light
hand-sanding, a brush
The next with putty knife, chisel
Craftsman Dual Orbital Sander, a circular
Carbide disk, my own skin
Sticking out
between sleeve ends and gloves —
Bandana and goggles and nose mask a powdery
white lead poison I hope I didn't breathe in —
Itching
5. Windows Like Friends
We think we see through them
much better than they see through themselves
Each thinking his
hers is the only real view of the world
6. Obliging as Mirrors
Telling us only
what we want to hear
The rest: shadowed
outlines of shrubs, dark sky, neighbors
Out there somewhere.
7. Like Neighbors
Who might have something
in common, in the same room
Unable to turn around even part way.