I paused at the corner.
Crossing through the walk,
an evergreen pickup
with an extended cab
rolled through with a girl
hunkered down in the back seat –
window glass rolled down,
her face opening outward,
her eyes drifting towards the corners.
If she sang with her lips,
I couldn’t see it.
Her hair, light brown,
fluttering in waves
across her forehead.
Our eyes met in the middle;
I’m sure of it.
But what?
Did she see
what I saw -
looking at her face
searching from the window opened
to that early fall air.
And what?
There was a full lane
plus peripherals
between my body standing
and her’s slumping.
And undoubtedly mine slumping
and her half-opening eyes
into her young life
rising.
She rode a chariot of fire;
my faltering feet mired
in unyielding pavement.
If I ever see her again,
there will be no hint of recognition.
Yet for the briefest moment on Mass St
our eyes crossed and we did meet each other
in the simple time and tangible space of a crosswalk.
And what?
No comments:
Post a Comment