Attic Windows

I saw a nice bright white tennis shoe today;
It was in the middle of the road
And I drove my car squarely over it
so my tire wouldn’t squash it down
Or mark it up, just in case.
I hope the owner finds it.
How do you lose one shoe?
I’ll bet there is an interesting story there.
When you look at a house
As you’re driving past,
Which windows do you notice most?
I think for me
I look at attic windows.
I wonder if it’s just a boring attic like mine,
Mainly filled with insulation and
Lazy floating dust particles –
Or if it’s magical and mysterious
Like everyone hopes an attic will be?
Maybe with little toys from days gone by,
Packed up and placed there for grandchildren
Whom may or may not have ever arrived.
And yellowed newspapers that tell stories
That you already know the endings to
But it seems so real right then
Because you’re holding a piece of it,
Smelling the past-
And you -almost-
Could close your eyes
And be in that very moment in time.
Maybe there is a box of clothes?
If anything tells a story,
It’s a fabulous dress
That has visited many places,
Gone to parties,
Been part of all the conversations
Absorbing both good news and bad.
Or those tiny heels that women used to somehow wear.
I’m not sure why our feet
Have now gotten so much bigger.
Those are some things that I wonder
And think about
When I look up at house attic windows.


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