The Same Window

She sinks into her threadbare cushion on the aged-old rocker she huddles in daily placing her thin-skinned arms cold to the touch upon the arm rail darkened from the oil of her skin Creaks and moans play a tedious rhythmic song from loosed screws holding the oak rockers that roll over the rutted floor back and forth her feet pushing off an upswept floor as she drifts into her thoughtless doom It is an everyday sound to her ears She does not feel its rhythm or hear the sounds of the day that resonate from the busy street below She waits for something she cannot find day after long day season to season year after year When her heart stops listening to the silence she watches out the window facing the street where the sidewalks carry on with life Her eyes meet unknown faces that she greets with impenetrable eyes Her mouth turns down with no utterance of words In that solitary confinement within her self-imposed throne the songbird has lost its song the sun has faded in its warmth she sits in a cathedral without god She has fled with each lonely night in the darkness that swallowed her dreams to awaken to one more day at the same window She has forgotten the sound of her name There is no one to answer