Inside
the room is not holy.
It is lived in.
The light is thin, practical—
the kind that exposes dust on the mantel
and the faint crack running down the wall
like an old argument.
A chair sits slightly askew,
as if someone rose too quickly.
The table bears the dull shine
of hands that have rested there
too long.
Nothing is symbolic.
The window is a window.
The silence is simply
what remains
after love has said everything it could
and failed.
I stand in that room
not as a pilgrim,
but as a woman who has waited.
The air tastes of iron and evening.
Outside, a sky the color of bruised plum
lowers itself toward the roofline.
Inside, the quiet presses close—
not gentle,
but intimate.
This is how romance survives in real life:
not in declarations,
but in the way two cups sit side by side
cooling untouched.
In the faint imprint on a cushion.
In the shadow of a shoulder
that is no longer there
yet still alters the light.
The walls know our names.
They have heard them whispered,
heard them sharpened.
Stillness here is not peace.
It is a truce.
And yet—
there is tenderness in it.
The room does not collapse
under what it holds.
It stands.
Hushed, yes—
but breathing.
As if at any moment
a door might open,
and someone, imperfect and human,
might step back inside
and choose to stay.
Photo credits: “Hushed and Still,” painted by Simie Maryles
Posted for Open Link Night (Painting with your words) @dVerse Pub
13 Responses
Oh….Sanaa. I love that you’ve written to the lit room here….rather than the total scene. What you don’t know is this is the original place of Simie’s gallery in Provincetown, Cape Cod. She and her husband, Moe, spent many years in this place. She’s just recently moved to a larger place a little bit closer to town but still on this same street she captures so well in the painting….in winter when the tourists have deserted the town and only the hearty locals are here. Thank you for posting to the painting. I’m sending Simie the link soon and know she will enjoy your writing here!
Thank you so much, Lillian 😀 so glad you liked it 💄❤️
(and thank you for the lovely prompt) 🥂
I love how your poem enters the room in the image, Sanaa, and explores it so beautifully and in so much detail. I especially love the simile comparing the ‘faint crack running down the wall’ to ‘an old argument’ and the way you trace the imprints of the inhabitants and their relationship. These lines are so true:
‘This is how romance survives in real life:
not in declarations,
but in the way two cups sit side by side
cooling untouched.’
Thank you so much, my dearest Kim 😍 so glad you enjoyed it 💄❤️
Bravo Sanaa for taking the reader inside the ekphrastic- such imagination in that one lit window
Thank you so much, Laura 😀 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄❤️
Wow Your poem is so beautiful, tender and human I love “and the faint crack running down the wall/ like an old argument.” and”The table bears the dull shine of hands that have rested there/ too long.” Oh too many lines to love. Thank you for this Sanaa
Yes, human love can only be imperfect, woven and abandoned by clutter, haste, bitchness and need. The shift in tone here is stark compared to most of the love poems I’ve read by you. Reminds me so of Robert Bly’s “Listening to the Köln Concert,” which ends, “The inner nest not made by instinct /will never be quite round, / and each has to enter the nest / made by the other imperfect bird.” I and Thou are in reality human companions. The invitation at the end of this suggests however that the voyage never ends.
I love what you have done with this one, Sanaa. Such vivid descriptions of love gone wrong and waiting in silence for something to emerge!
This is how romance survives in real life:
not in declarations,
but in the way two cups sit side by side
cooling untouched.
Maybe romance is only in our own minds!?
This is gorgeous Sanaa! So damned real… and every time we must make a part of that choice — to stay, or to allow it.
Sanaa, what a wonderfully realistic look at imperfectly perfect human love… and a window that’s just a window. It is what it is!
*goosebumps* holy cow, that was good!
Wow, wow, wow. This is so beautifully written. You have expressed the complicated emotions of human relationships. I like the way you involved all the senses and the connections you made to the physical space. I also like that the poem ends with a sense of hope.
Here are some favorite lines,
And yet—
there is tenderness in it.
The room does not collapse
under what it holds.
It stands.
Hushed, yes—
but breathing.