Perched upon the Window Sill- a poem

I’m not much of a poet. I’ll be the first to admit I have no great joy in either studying or performing this medium of expression. I like writing poetic prose, but that’s about it. Nonetheless, I was asked by a friend to write a poem after she heard me say the phrase “Perched upon the Window Sill” in reference to a boy in our class who was refusing to sit anywhere but right at the window, looking out. It made me think back to my bedroom in France, where I would sit and look out at the streets, reflecting on life and other things. I considered writing a sonnet in honor of my Shakespeare class that inspired me, but I felt in the mood for free-verse. So here is my mildly pathetic poem dedicated to my blogging friend.

Perched upon the Window Sill

I sit there perched upon the window sill

Gazing out at the desolate street

Cafes closed up

Tables chained in uneven clusters

Rain glistens on the surface

Drops budding into puddles

Hinting at more to come.

The occasional footsteps echo on cobblestones

A shadowed figure huddled beneath an umbrella

Scuttles by into the gloom.

It’s a good day to be inside.

I am glad of the warmth

Tucked in my tiny chamber

A thick sweater shielding me

A pane of glass to protect me

Only my hand cold

Pressed upon the surface

Separating me from the rain.

This street is a different place

A new world

As though some dark spell has come upon our city

Sleeping Beauty’s enchantment

Quieting the streets.

I glance out and remember like a dream:

Sunshine

Laughter I can hear through open window

Tables full with families, friends

Sitting in the peaceful atmosphere

Of these calm French streets

But life is gone

They say rain brings life

Yet does it?

When all around me

Silence reigns

And people huddle and hide

Within the warmth of their comforting houses.

‘Tis not life.

These clouds steal voices and laughter

Take children from our streets

Replace merriment with sorrow

My eyes trace this familiar road

Curled on the window sill

Back braced against firm wood

Hands folded over knees

Curled in on self

Vulnerable

Alone.

I reflect on happier times

In streets

In life

Of other worlds that might be

Of deeper sorrows than rain

Droplets tap against the glass like fingers

I gaze out

Wondering.

Freewrite- Love Spell

This is a random little piece I wrote after a mixture of my World Religions class and Shakespeare class came together to form an idea. My religions class had been talking about cultures that believe items can be cursed, particularly with love spells. And I’d just finished reading Midsummer Night’s Dream- which contains a love potion used to confuse the lovers. And so, I reflected on that after having a random kissing dream (yes I know how scandalous) and decided to write a piece about a girl wondering if she’s been put under a spell. Simple fun free-writing based on what I’m learning. Enjoy!

-*-

It sits against my heart. Reflective I suppose. That the love I feel is emulated in this tiny piece of rock nestled there against my chest. Magic never struck me as real before. But perhaps it is.

You gifted it to me on my birthday. A souvenir trinket you’d picked up on the road. Nothing special I suppose. Or so I thought. Til that night.

I should have noticed the changes. My looks lingered a little longer. My laughs became a bit more uncomfortable. My heartbeat quickened almost imperceptibly.

My life went on as normal. And yet a bit more time was devoted to our chats. More energy, more focus. That day I put on a bit more makeup before going out to see you I suppose I should have realized it was real. That something had changed. And yet I remained blind to my ways, to the patterns emerging before my gaze.

And then came the dreams.

Specifics never seem to come easily upon waking. One recalls vague aspects, but never the very details of what happened. And so I’ll attempt preciseness, and yet likely fail.

You were in a garden. Sitting. I walked over to you, surprised to see you in such a setting. You smiled, stared at me with such easiness, your expression just a little different. If there was nervousness I don’t recall. I simply remember sitting down. And moving to kiss you.

I awoke with a gasp of surprise. Stood. Paced. Wondered. The mind is a strange place. Dreams ten times stranger. Had I really wanted that? Had it all been a strange combination of the days events? I glance at my phone. Look at the message you left me before I slept. Impossible. I’ve never felt such things before.

I laid back down, rolled to my side, the necklace shifting easily on my bare skin. I try not to think of it, as I surrender back to sleep.

You haunt me.

I cannot escape you, either in life or in sleep. You are my shadow, ever with me. Even by moonlight you tarry after my step.

My dreams have become more elaborate. Sometimes our kisses go on a while. Sometimes I seem to just see your face everywhere I go. The faces of those around me. The images of advertisements. You are there. Ever watching. Ever waiting.

I am uncomfortable when I see you at day, memories of the nights tailing me everywhere. What if you know? What if you suspect? Am I blushing? Is it obvious?

Where did this come from? I have never thought such things before. We were friends. Good friends. Who’d agreed never to let feelings go beyond that. Have I gone mad?

Even  your faults now seem to attract me. I find you frustratingly loveable, a glorious insanity, a treasured torture. Were you always so beautiful at your worst?

The dreams deepen. Sometimes I hear chanting beyond me, somewhere in the clouds. I am lost as I run towards you, my only goal in life now. I have forgotten how to live without you. You are my very breath, my very existence. I need you.

That night I finally did it. I felt like I was in one of my dreams as we went to a movie together. Just friends. Perhaps. My mind took it to the extreme. We were changing. You were changing. Just as I was. This madness had consumed you too. And you would want me.

As we walked home I did it. The unspeakable. Broke the bond of friends. Leaned in. Kissed you. It was not the same as the dreams. Less perfection. Less sweet. But nonetheless like bread to a starving man and I consumed without regret.

You pushed away. Cried out. Your face red. Your eyes filled with a torrent of emotions. Was I the cause of such distress? How could I be when all I wanted was your love? Was ever sweetness met with more bitter hate?

I tried to grab your arm. You pulled me away. Your hand caught the string beneath  my shirt. I struggled. Liquid on my cheeks. When had I begun to cry? There is no recollection of when my eyes opened to allow such emotion to spill.

You push me back roughly. I fall. But in the process, your hand has broken the flimsy string that kept your lovetoken so close to my heart. As you walk into the darkness I sit there, staring at the small figure that is lying broken and useless in the grass beside me.

In an instant it is gone. Desire. Longing. Passion. Obsession. I forget why I have even come to this state, lying broken and crying on the dirty ground. What has happened? Where have I been.

I don’t dare touch it as I stand, brief recollections of my days and weeks and months spent thinking of you clear on my mind. I move away from the little idol that represents my worship of you. Move on. Get up. Go on.

I only know. Without a doubt. If ever there was magic. My deep love is not without. You have cast a spell on me. You drew me in with a curse. And it never then can be.