A Woman in the Night. …(a story in short lines.)
In London…
the sky at night glows down deep orange hue
which softly bleeds into the city grey.
The planets, stars and all the worlds beyond are lost
to fleeting taxis and the frenzy
of the city streets.
I’m waiting for a bus
near iron railings painted black
A lit up basement room … below the level of my feet
reveals a table and a low lit lamp…
illuminated by a flickering of TV light
and then she comes to sight.…
The woman sits alone…she looks rubbed down by life.
Her stare is fixed on space …
Her face.. a sad old moon
a coin worn thin and done …
..with hints of secrets hard and harrowing…
of things she cannot share .
And I am there and wondering…
What thoughts are in her mind?
I’m drawn in to her
and by the circumstance that is her life.
beside that low lit lamp…her body still… her cardigan,
The Hay Wain on the wall…
when suddenly she stands and disappears…
..as though that was the final act…
The show was over….just this audience of one
is left.
But she returns …and when she does
She holds a jug..walks to the window. ..and…
…not looking up
She slowly pours some water on a tiny plant.
My bus arrives ..I take my leave into the London night
I think about the woman..…..watering her plant.
I think about my life.
Kristine Byrne. 14th Nov 2014- (revised 2015)