these words are for you!
These little words…These seeds,
sowed in the soul of me.
You were that farmer; your love was the hoe.
Tirelessly, you worked. Tilling, clearing,
sowing…two years long…
Each night, I stand by the window in my room from where, through your own windows, I can see your kitchen. In the day, it’s mostly dark, but when night falls and the interior lights come on, I can see your sink (or is it your stove?) and the cupboards hanging high up on the wall. And I wait, patiently, to see you. Sometimes a tall slender woman whom I assume is your mom comes in and is busy at the sink/stove, her back turned on me at work, but most times, your kitchen is empty, and I stand wistfully at my window, wishing you’d come in – just please come in.