How he holds his hands
in front of him, palms out,
speaking softly as if to a
spooked wild creature,
reassuring it he won't
approach too quickly.
That he is safe.
How I've waited to be
approached in good faith.
How I've sat at the window,
mind far above the room,
breath catching with the shadow
of every passing bird.
How I've willed it to be
one of us, swooping in,
tapping the glass with the
holding end of her broom.
She'd raise her hands
like I was a wild songbird
she didn't want to fly away,
and softly say,
I haven't said a word.
And I'd say, I know.
I recognize you, too.