A Tall Woman
Views from a window.
A tall woman, lean with height walks down the street frequently though not predictably. Many people do, with various ambles, differing thoughts and gravity. Her gait reminded me of a quarter horse: Confined but speedy, one place to go, one pace to go. A quiet race, urgent and controlled. Her hair has some blonde, but not all, and spoke of outgrowing a history; a partially pale attempt to muster or reclaim identity. I saw her with clothes but knew that ribs were defined, rippled as sand’s response and repose with wind. She lived confined on another side of the world, seeking unawareness of anything not lying in the path of here to there.
Now in the tongs of a record cold there has not been much traffic and only the careless or brave even think to walk outside. I missed her, in ways. She was interesting and she was in my memory. I had considered a brief encounter, to get a look closer than across the street with the less than sharp vision allowed from my window. I had thought to be walking toward her in opposite direction, visiting the image several times ahead of action. Thinking as in chess: What would happen if I moved here? It was not to be encounter, more at random passing and would not require special dress nor rehearsal words. Meeting was not the goal. Interruption was not the intent, nor redirection the aim. It was not to be a trap to see her face.
But the worst to happen, more than frost bite or asked to help push a car stuck in snow, in loss of traction, would be to alter her migration. I think the tall women chose an avenue of acceptance thru avoidance. She believed herself to be immune but desire revealed her presence. I think this because it describes me, hiding in plain sight, walking down the street as if it had to be done to get from here to there. I miss her in this hard winter and wonder if she is driving a car instead, though I’m hoping not. Hoping she sensed that someone had been watching her journey, briefly passing a window, she is now waiting patiently to be a sign of good weather.
A Tall Woman
There is no denying seeing you again,
I did so this evening, but have given up travel.
Such a long way to go to have to come back-
And who would tend my window?
Two days ago the sign of spring,
The Tall Woman
Walked south and later north.
It felt warm and I've given thought
To clean the glass streaked with cold and harsh
In honor of her next visit.
Now in the tongs of a record cold there has not been much traffic and only the careless or brave even think to walk outside. I missed her, in ways. She was interesting and she was in my memory. I had considered a brief encounter, to get a look closer than across the street with the less than sharp vision allowed from my window. I had thought to be walking toward her in opposite direction, visiting the image several times ahead of action. Thinking as in chess: What would happen if I moved here? It was not to be encounter, more at random passing and would not require special dress nor rehearsal words. Meeting was not the goal. Interruption was not the intent, nor redirection the aim. It was not to be a trap to see her face.
But the worst to happen, more than frost bite or asked to help push a car stuck in snow, in loss of traction, would be to alter her migration. I think the tall women chose an avenue of acceptance thru avoidance. She believed herself to be immune but desire revealed her presence. I think this because it describes me, hiding in plain sight, walking down the street as if it had to be done to get from here to there. I miss her in this hard winter and wonder if she is driving a car instead, though I’m hoping not. Hoping she sensed that someone had been watching her journey, briefly passing a window, she is now waiting patiently to be a sign of good weather.
A Tall Woman
There is no denying seeing you again,
I did so this evening, but have given up travel.
Such a long way to go to have to come back-
And who would tend my window?
Two days ago the sign of spring,
The Tall Woman
Walked south and later north.
It felt warm and I've given thought
To clean the glass streaked with cold and harsh
In honor of her next visit.
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