The Visititor

She’s at the window wondering
if she got dressed up
for nothing, that he won’t be here
to see her new burgundy dress
and jacket with the sailor’s collar.

Close to her ear the curtain
sounds like the sea and feels
like comfort.

She fights the urge
to put her thumb in her mouth
for even one second
in case he comes.

Outside the window
Rue de la Paget unfolds
beneath her but she’s looking
at me across the street,
solemn and still.

She doesn’t return my wave
or leave the window
just in case he does come today.