Poetry prompt 1/29/22 - Inspired by Ross Gay & Gwendolyn Brooks Awakened Roused, from stillness My aging bones awake in protest to the cold air that seeps through a poorly closed window. Looming, it waits for naked, warm feet to emerge from down-filled blankets. I have told him all year; the window needs repairing Unintentionally left unattended, I am sure. Slightly bitter, I turn and shift and sink deeper. Sounds of the night find their way into our room. Restless I become as minutes push me closer to daylight. A car engine interrupts the evening. Heavily it revs and rumbles to life. The old window vibrates within its pane. His eyes open. Snow crunches underfoot, doors slam, music blurts out, laughter and voices murmur in the wind. A tone-deaf man softly sings misplayed lyrics. Poetry is not his name. Annoyed, we lie in silence. I succumb to curiosity. Bravely I step away from my soft fortress. Bare feet cross the cold, wooden floor. At the window, I peer out into the night. My neighbor's house is aglow, drunk with festivities. I turn and hurry back to the comfort of my bed and him. They are having fun, I say. Our mood softens. We lie in wait. We wait, and we wait for silence to return. Young, good people they are, we laugh with their revelry. Through the darkness, we smile. We recall our youth, wild nights, gatherings, and friendships. He promises to fix the window in the days ahead. No matter, wait until Spring, I say, as we peacefully drift back to sleep within the warmth of our room.