Bricks and Windows






It’s as though I’m a prisoner.

There are bars outside my windows,

Yet I write with my back to them.

I can feel them etched,

Burnt into my back.

The view is worse

With a brick wall just several yards away.

When stuck and stunted

When the page is blank,

I stare at the bricks.

Not for inspiration

But to just get out of my head.

I notice the different colors and their borders

Almost like a meditation

But without the peace.


I am not an offender.

Not in the sense of being

Mad or murderous.

I live in New York.

The bars are for my children

So they will not fall six stories down.

And my view of the brick wall

Is of the building behind.


This is how we live here.

Bars         Walls

Dark         Damp Apartments

Without direct sunlight

And never to see the sky.

For the sky is scraped

With bricks and walls and bars on the windows.


© Jill M Roberts 2016 All Rights Reserved


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