The Window - Original Poem

The Window

There she was in the window.
No peacock, nor dove,
a simple pheasant, not my first pick;
But would she do the trick?

I had to see.
I had to feel.
The memory of my past relationship lingers,
would she fit between these broken fingers?

I grab the handle.
I walk inside.
The shop is filled with ancient lore,
with an exchange of sorts I’m out the door.

I take her out.
I dip her in red.
Her crimson colors fill my page,
a senior in my clutches, but I don’t mind the age.

I dance.
I share her with no one.
The world will see what she left behind
and all of her projects that I have signed.

Now there she sits in my window.
My peacock, my dove,
more than a pheasant. She did the trick,
my best choice; the right pick.

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