the bees would come in

i miss

my old windows.

the wooden

sashes.

the way they

wobbled

and wouldn't stay up,

or wouldn't

open.

the leaks and broken

glass

letting in the bees and flies.

a few were stuck

for decades.

old windows.

one had a bullet hole in it.

more

than four were cracked,

one pane

was missing,

that i put a piece of cardboard

in with tape.

the hardware

was a mixed bunch

of metal pieces

found in drawers, tool

boxes

from the woman

who died in her sleep

here,

so many years ago.

they were great windows.

they let go

of the cold,

they let go of the heat.

they were

wonderful and cranky,

especially in the morning,

like me.