r i g h t  h a n d  p o i n t i n g

 short poetry  short fiction   short...uh..art
 

 

     
  Helen Losse

Southern Window

 

 
 The alarm had sounded mid-dream.
And I could have lost minutes,
though it seemed like light years.

The sun that shines in warmly now—
through the blinds of the southern window,
onto the ledge where the cat is curled,
and by the door downstairs,
by sun-puddles, deep enough for wading—
remained absent from our curtained bedroom.
 

 

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