As I ponder about today — the backdoor to a restaurant that played nostalgia in tune;
I wonder,
if the day was any more than her.
"This is the only happy-poem I wrote." She says. Coral.
Then goes on to string together blue melancholy.
So I wonder,
if lavender could be a person.
She smiles sangria-smiles; talks about vineyards, a parking lot and her people.
I am here
trying to learn her as if,
everything around her is scribble.
and I wonder,
"Do I understand?"
"Let me fix my face." She'd say grabbing her roses and apricots;
I don't understand.
I am here
painting her,
as her earrings dance with the tilt of her head;
the way she rises on toes reliving her poetry in a room full of eyes or
when she stops
to look at the ******* her jump-rope outside the car window,
as an evening fades away.
She smiles sangria-smiles; talks about vineyards, a parking lot, chai and her people...
A day has gone by
And I wonder,
If I know her yet.