Saturday, May 17, 2014

To Windward

How lovely a woman is, who

not finding something in her purse, pauses
puzzled, and tilts her head while the light

washes sideways. Something begins to tap
or to roll, and the restaurant heels.

Its sails fill on the other tack: she
makes a decision – the medicine

was left on the counter at home, perhaps,
or her daughter made off with the hairbrush

it is this ordinary world that I do not want to leave
and it is not that she knows I saw her

or that the wave of light, breaking over me
will leave anything steady or true.

No. The click of the clasp as she closes
her purse, it ticks in my fingertips,

and I want to say, “Don't go.”


Zhoen said...

The clasp on my tiny purse is a magnet, makes a quiet, but satisfying "snup."

I like to think someone finds my public confusion pleasantly amusing. No, really, I do, that was not sarcasm. I know, with me, it is hard to tell.

Dale said...

:-) xoxo

rbarenblat said...

Beautiful, dear dale.