Between the Window and Its Reflection

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.