Zilka Joseph
WAITING INSIDE
As windows darken with winter,
her thoughts hang heavy
like snow in gray clouds,
she rests her head on the arm
offered by her old sofa, now
worn smooth by her cheek,
drapes one pajama-ed leg over the other,
curls toes deep into red wool socks
flecked with lint,
sees her dreams
soften like butter, and sleep,
lying still like calm dogs,
her desires, like seeds
filled with sweetness, slow their lust,
wait again for that first stirring
when she will unwrap her body
seduce the ice
and plant herself anew.
—from Rattle #21, Summer 2004
