From my window,
I’ve seen her from time to time,
the homeless woman,
walking along the sidewalk with her usual gait.
Her face is serene;
her eyes glance around
like she’s seeing something for the first time.
She’s quiet now,
not screaming like she did before
at the voices in her head
for their transgressions against her person,
against her daughter,
whom I’ve never seen and
who may be real,
or not.
It’s been many months now
that she’s wandered the street,
though I understand
her body was cremated after her death.
She didn’t have a home when she was alive,
and she hasn’t one now,
it seems.
At first, I pitied her,
but then I thought walking around
with wonder and curiosity,
everything seeming so fresh and new,
might be a wonderful way to spend eternity.
Besides, she looks so much happier now.
I have been comforted by her presence
and can’t suppress a smile when I see her.
Lately, she’s been stopping to look up at my window.
Each day, she’s gotten closer.
This morning,
she is below my window standing at the hedge.
I hold her gaze and we both smile.
I know what she means.
I nod at her and
tilt my teacup in an informal salute.
I’ll be with you soon, friend.