SISTER SERAFINA SITTING BY THE WINDOW

My sister, Serafina, sits by the window, all day, every day,

— but what does she see?

There is nothing across from us except that ugly

Building across the way.

Nothing but traffic far below.

We are, after all, on the fifteenth floor

of our apartment building.

Sister Serafina does not embroider

or read or listen to the radio. She

just sits and looks out and she does not

talk to me.

Or anyone else

About that fateful day

When Albert told her he did not want to get married, after all.

Even though the bans had been posted.

And Serafina had her trousseau,

even her wedding gown, and

had chosen flowers for the church.

We learned later, to our dismay,

that Albert had fallen

in love with someone else.

A blonde-hair floozy who wore face paint

and short skirts with high heels.

“Serafina,” I say. “Would you like to go for a walk in the park?”

And she smiles and says

“Oh, no sister, I am fine.  just fine–Right where I am.

 

 

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