Ruminate

She sits atop her artists’ loft
and ruminates in the afternoon sun;
it's beams brightening tree tops in the park
while shadows close in.

She sits in her flea market chair, so soft
and recalls the day of fun
not this one, but one before, when life was dark
but she relished all the sin.

She ponders how she got here
fresh art just completed;
dressed fancifully, for herself
and the hope that he may come by.

She's comfortable now, less in fear
and has found the missing pieces she's needed.
Anxieties and jealousies, not gone, but locked in a box on a shelf
though she still longed for him; no reason now to lie.

She sips her tea past painted lips
the warmness trickles down her throat;
her hands now steady
and she stares out the window with steely eyes.

She blinks them fast, they lash like whips
as she recalls his scribbled note
and foolishly she stays at the ready
crossing, and uncrossing her thighs.

She takes a deep breath
swallows hard and pleads;
When there's a buzz at the door
is it her future, or the embodiment of her past deeds?