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A Quiet Life

Gentle hands tend, mend, mind.
Smooth, seamless movements,
As she goes around her little world.
It’s dark outside,
But she is safe
Inside the confines
Of her quiet home.
 
Everything makes sense here,
And a place for everything.
The delicate china
Waiting for someday guests.
The lone lightbulb above the table
Her only companion,
Pots and pans put away just so.
If you don’t stack plates
In a particular sequence
They simply just won’t fit.
Life has a measured order.
 
When the day is done
She stands in front of the sink
And listens
To the silence.
Is this all there is?
Or is there more?
Something else?...
Something she hasn’t known before?
And she stares at herself
In the dark window pane,
Pensive,
Heart uneasy.
In the end
She retires under the layers of blankets,
Mouthing a prayer
And a Goodnight to her solitude.
 
And the dark outside conceals
Dangers and mysteries,
And moonlight, and starlight...
 
Maybe some day
She will stop asking,
And wondering,
And hiding.
Maybe one day
She will barter
Enough courage from a mouse
For bread crumbs
To open the door
And face the unknown,
And find what’s more to life.
 
©Olga Gavrilovskiy 2015
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