Window Attics

In our window attics we stand

Upstairs, in our houses of imaginations,

Peering and leering…

flows from across the street;

Obligations below

Within other rooms of our house

Pre-occupied,

watching others live in fishbowls

Playing out what the viewers would like to do if they could.

"Sit with me and read,"

flows out along air currents between us, made by the ceiling fan

But,

falls on deaf ears (like always)…

"Don't you want to sit with me,"

flows out on a question?

I wonder why?

Then,

walk from room-to-room

My strides match my heartbeats;

I pour myself a drink,

wishing it was alcoholic like my Dad…

His funeral floats by and I reach out to touch its wake;

I cringe at the idea of becoming like him!

I wonder why…

my dreams never seem to finish

before I fall asleep like…

…falling from this day into another day…

…before my dreams can start again.

October 10, 2009