They were yellowed in a drawer
when I found them,
there was something about the once
white eyelet curtains
that made me think of the past:
how a married woman once hung them
in the window.
They were like a shield over her eyes
from the sun, bearing good witness
that she had not forgotten the pledge.
But promises fade to presumption,
and now she was
rummaging in her purse for the
number to the women’s shelter.
there were large unwieldy doormats
to welcome the guests she expected,
the ones who never came,the child she never had.