Serving House: A Journal of Literary Arts
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SHJ Issue 17
Fall 2017

The Window

by Jim Zola

We dust what shows—candles without flame, figurines 
frozen in dance. Rituals exhausted, we wait 

for our guests. It doesn’t take much to slip back 
to second grade where Mrs. Goldfarb clears her throat 

eternally, where the faceless boy wets his pants, pissing 
a stream that threatens to carry us away. Or further 

back to where the yard is a jungle, where we claw 
mossy earth or risk being sucked into darkness 

that waits like a deaf grandmother. If we looked 
into windows bleeding light, we’d see ourselves passing 

photographs. Looking out we’d see trees flamed 
purple against a moon-dashed sky. One of us 

might notice rustling in the underbrush, by the birdbath 
an untied shoe, a pile of discarded clothes, an embrace 

of shirt sleeves, before they turn back into leaves 
and we turn back to refill an empty glass.


SHJ Issue 17
Fall 2017

Jim Zola

has worked in a warehouse, as a security guard, in a bookstore, as a teacher for Deaf children, as a toy designer for Fisher Price, and currently as a children’s librarian. His writing has appeared in many journals through the years, and his publications include a chapbook with his photographs, The One Hundred Bones of Weather (Blue Pitcher Press, 1990), and a full-length poetry collection, What Glorious Possibilities (Aldrich Press, 2014). He lives in Greensboro, North Carolina.

“...we have been born here to witness and celebrate. We wonder at our purpose for living. Our purpose
is to perceive the fantastic. Why have a universe if there is no audience?” — Ray Bradbury