The sill is angry.

The hope that I will stand up and fly through the pane has been with us both for years.

Today, my window sill capitulated, recognizing in me failure.

I can't say I'm surprised. What is stirring is the loyalty.

The way still my sill holds up the books and thick candles, my buttons in a mason jar, all the small favorites.

How the sill continues in the face of me: this is something I can choose to consider heroic.