at the window

Broad daylight, and a man is peeing
against the building across the alley.
The storm is rolling in over the misshapen
skyline. I throw open all the windows.
Rain beads the screens, clogs
the tiny metal mesh. When the storm
has passed, water drains from the lawns,
sun streaks through the soaked trees
in marbled patches, bright draperies
of light decorate the brick apartments.
Outside, in the wet grasses, daffodils
bow in the damp breeze the way a woman
bent over a basin rinses her long, blond hair.


At the Window by Ann Hudson
Published in the March | April issue of Orion