Mel Bosworth reads “Waiting by the Window,” by Aleathia Drehmer.

Waiting by the Window by Aleathia Drehmer

We carry these symbols like a dedication,
an opening to move freely between us,
as if permission needed granting. They
are collected verbs unused, abject nouns
and solemn whispers through wood.

Their metal adds weight to our chains,
slung easily into pocket or purse,
but remain heavy in hand when
not in use. They are our quiet
neglected conversations;

these keys to each other’s
apartments which never seem
to be of use. On my ring, a duo
of non-descript silver fingers
jangle with the rest of them.

They could be keys to anything, but they
are his. I have marked them in black ink.

His crux to my door is enameled royal
blue and somehow off the mark
a millimeter or two in their making;
no engagement from the tumbler,
no satisfying click and turn. I always
wait by the window anyway.

Aleathia Drehmer is singing Billie Holiday. She likes to be barefooted but not pregnant. She is counting the days until warm sweaters do not have to be worn. She is the editor of the print micro-zine, Durable Goods and co-editor at Zygote in my Coffee. She has a flip book due out in the next few months called “Empty Spaces” from Tainted Coffee Press. In recent history her poems have been published at Creekwalker, Nibble, Right Hand Pointing, Sugar Mule, Counterexample Poetics, Writers’ Bloc, Alligator Stew and Ottawa Arts Review. Find her HERE.