Motel Window

Checking out of a motel one morning
I noticed a man getting into his car
who didn't notice me at all as I walked
over to mine. He also didn't glance up
to the second floor when I did though I
couldn't tell you why, just one of those chance
things that happen which can haunt you, fill
your thoughts and dreams for years.
He drove away, no angry look upon his
face, just time to go and so he did but did not
see the woman's face that peered from where
she held the curtain back and I was sure there was
a story there, as sure as I could tell that though she
smiled in case his eyes met hers, her cheeks
were wet with tears. I couldn't swear: The day
was overcast and as he pulled out of the parking
space, the curtain fell and looked no different
than the other rooms containing empty beds
and empty lives and empty promises, perhaps,
but I just knew the woman in the window
cried to see him go, and knowing in my heart
that it was so, I found myself so wishing
he had seen her bravely smiling a good-bye.
Out on the road, I wondered if I'd see him,
maybe pumping gas or standing at an ATM,
and I could stop and shyly tell him to go back
or call, at least, and tell the woman something
sweet to keep her smiling through the days
and nights ahead until she saw him next.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014

Snapshots of other peoples' lives - the stories they tell us may or may not be true, but they can touch our hearts, nevertheless.