Between the window and its reflection
The blank slate appears; fresh and clean.
But down below, things are as it was.
Old and rusted, yet still serene.
I look out into the rusty sky
And recognize a light clicking sound.
I’ve heard of this sound before
Pinging off the buildings around.
This time, the click turns into a ring
Pleasing like chimes in the wind.
I see the old man, shovel in hand
I notice how much his skin has thinned.
He twists the lumpy soil into new earth
Sweat dripping from his brow.
It reminds me of my grandfather
Who also taught me how.
He taught me to be brave
And fight like no other.
Now he no longer comes around
Not even for my mother.
Because his idea of love
Doesn’t include mine.
My thoughts are spoiled,
My actions are a crooked spine.
But between the window and its reflection
The blank slate still sits.
I notice that down below, it isn’t as it was
I find newer pieces of change, tiny little bits.
The rust can soon be cleared
So long as I free myself of it first.
And so, descending the steps to greet the old man
I find the roles have suddenly reversed.
My window from up above reflects the sky
The clouds rapidly drifting to the right.
The air is sweet with sweat on my face
And I can finally look towards the light.
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