Our poem takes place in WWII. The setting is a small flat furnished in the 30’s. It’s a bitter winter’s night. The place is cold and dark. Its sole occupant is the wife of a military pilot. She has been expecting a call of reassurance from the nearby base since 7:30 p.m. The night is now almost half over and still the phone lays silent on the bench…
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She stumbled slowly into the room
Praying he would call her soon
The darkened home seemed cold and bare
Suddenly lonely without him there.
She slipped into a familiar rest
Her head drooped sleepily upon her chest.
His nightshirt wrapped loosely over her satin slip
She drew it closer to ward off the cold air’s nip.
The old clock rattled and began to ‘bong-bong’
Its mournful sound made the night feel terribly long.
He should have hours ago returned from his flight
Had he somehow become-no surely not- lost in the night?
Her fingers gripped white on the settee's arm rest
She choked back a sob -no, she must hope for the best-
She pulled his shirt to her face, inhaled the faint scent
Had she told him she loved him the day that he went?
Her tears now fell freely as she clasped her hands in prayer
Perhaps, she hoped, the phones just weren’t working there.
To frenzied to sleep and to wretched to stay here and wait
She half slipped from her couch, in a coma-like state.
She felt utterly alone surrounded by her worst fears
Then faintly came the sound of knocking to her ears.
As if in a dream she heard a key in the lock, then steps in the hall,
There was no need for the phone, he had come home after all!
~Mindy Moyer
(Painting Credit: 'Le Boudoir' - Delphin Enjolras)
Girl of a different Era 