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That woman at her window
A place for her elbows on the sill
A vermillion furor tied to her side
Lovely nasturtium in blue sandstone.
She watches a bitter traffic pass
And doesn't budge
All day
Afraid to bump into that wall of silence behind her.
Frosted breath on her neck
Silent space where that man of salt
Has just enough place
Between the woman's back and the wall
To damn her veins that freeze each time he breathes
His slow, cold and immobile breath.
Anne Hebert
© BOA Editions, Ltd 1987
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