Pride in the Wind

Wind blows readily through the broken windowpane.

The curtain stands back from its gaze upon the shadows

its own lacy pattern makes upon the moon

because the moon

is high and big and yellow, pale yellow,

and perfectly round.

Broken bits of glass have been picked out of the wooden molding

so no one can tell at a glance the window needs mending.

At night, on a night like tonight, the curtain

puffs in and out the broken window.

 If one were not proud one could board it up

at least on a night like tonight,

 the wind is cold,

or tack up an old blanket

but it isn't done.

They pull on knitted caps. Push the bed away from the window.

Climb onto its high wooden frame under blankets,

many wool blankets, and watch the wind

back and forth

 cradle the moon

back and forth

in its lace covered arms.