Just to watch us pass,
the child moves from window to
window—her hands up
to rest on the panes—
She stares as if she isn’t seen.
Her lips move. The half
of conversation
we see is code and—without
her necessity—
meaningless. You’ve said
something I haven’t heard and
the child smiles, waving
behind the glass, knowing now—
the world is outside.
This sonnet is the second after “Departures” in a Fall Crown to replace the Summer Crown on this site.
Filed under: American Life, Chicago, Children, Fall, Haiku, Haiku Sonnets, Hope, Human Nature, Identity, Life, Musings, Poetry, Sonnets, Thoughts, Urban Life, Writing
