A narrow street lined with row houses
Bends like the elbow of a cocked arm
Resting on the hip of a city
Right in the middle, at the joint
A slim granite faced house rises up from the crooked sidewalk
Like a sheer cliff over rough water
At the top there is a little white window between brown shutters
On the other side of the glass a windowsill rests
It is covered with years of paint
Which in the most unfortunate of places crack
Deep like wrinkles in an old persons face
On this worn windowsill
Many birds have perched
But today a round faced brown eyed girl looks down
Head propped on tattoo stained arms
At the street lined with cars
And speckled with leaves
Where pedestrians shuffle about
During their daily routine
Behind her a room of college sensibilities sprawl
Each simple white wall complicated with a poster or drawing
All lining the way to a door with a deadbolt locking out a cold apartment
Down the hall and to the left is a bathroom matching her windowsill
Old claw footed bathtub and porcelain fixtures
Affixed to tile floors freshly grouted
Medicine cabinets bulging with
Empty child proof containers
Each promising solutions to different problems
Full packs of razorblades rest beneath her sink
But back in her room
On the old peeling windowsill
An almost empty glass of water says more
Than the contents of any cabinet could
The paint on the windowsill peels back more
And the cold room air fills the void