All she wants to know is the bustling
market outside the window, watery
through stained glass and morning light.
Horses clop along the Langendyck,
stall keepers shout indistinctly,
the cries of gulls waver in and out.
The warp and weft of bodies in motion
on market day.
……………………..She half-listens
to the scritching of her mistress’s quill,
secret words of love on precious paper.
She must wait for those words to dry,
the letter-locking, the hand-off to the boy
for delivery. Her ankles ache from standing,
from hours awake, her knees bent slightly
to forestall lightheadedness. Washing,
scullery work, the ongoing war
with dust throughout the day will trap
her indoors until late.
……………………………….Yet while she waits
she’s free to look, free to wonder,
free to wander in idle imaginings,
free to dream of life beyond these walls,
the red-roofed houses and church spires,
the avenues and canals, to where concerns
of men and demanding mistresses
concede to widening countryside
and all that might happen there.