Witness by Laurel Szymkowiak

 These winter days
the bedroom mirror reflects Agnes
and my face, hard, mouth tight.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        
I try my own patience 
looking for patience, look 
                                     out the window

to birds—at first, unfamiliar—
gray-green feathers in gray-green leaves, 
base of the tail, 2 bright red berry spots-- 

a hundred cedar wax wings 
fill the barbed holly bush, and with each rustle, 
                                     Witness. Surrender.

The old woman tries my patience, 
remembers clothing, not order,
pulls underpants over slacks,
stretches socks over shoes, wants  
                                    to please me.

 
The wax wings rise together, wheel
across the rescuing winter sky,   

                                      I refuse
to release my martyr’s trophy.

Laurel Szymkowiak has work published in several journals, including Voices from the Attic, The Del Sol Review, US 1 Worksheets, Cagibi, and Gyroscope. She is a Western Pennsylvania poet and a regular participant in Madwomen in the Attic writing workshops.