Tower Window

after eleven a.m. by Edward Hopper

They say it makes sense. They tell you it does.

Last night the anchor said everything was fine.

But it’s hard to believe that from where you are

seated at your high castle window

where maybe the prince will see you.

(but is your hair long enough?)


Who placed you here, and how long ago?

This is no story, so there is no villain

so who then will release you?

(Heroes are useless in cities.)


This is not a story, not at all, so no one

wants to hear about your broken heart;

your poison apple, your deep sleep,

not Jon at the newsstand, not Mike and Billy

riding bicycles, not Emily holding an outside table,

not any of the hundreds who will pass beneath

your watch on their lunch hour.


They don’t want to hear that your clothes remind you

too much of the world, and only your shoes

keep you from vanishing. They don’t want to know.

This is not a story. They don’t want to know,

This is not a story they want to know.

This is a story: Everything is fine.

This is the story they want to know:

Everyone, everywhere, fine.


                        
                                  -Brent Allard