Image by permission: Mel Kadel
She is on a sidewalk; standing like a tree – arms
outstretched and shaking with pious leaves, and
wishes of aura embraces – alone.
The hands…her temples of touch, pull air into
places wanting and needing breaths, for what can
only be described as aeons.
So her hands, their child features tug at a daddy long
departed and grasp life for a man now dying a life
never fully chosen.
The trouble started when a blind man planted a
sapling and then left on a journey never to return
as anything other than a yearning.
Seasons dry or wet have no affect, and the wind
is useless at changing her everlasting vigil waiting
for the blind man to be sighted or returned.
She is married to the long ago; to the far away, to
the wish that someday she will stretch her limbs in
a field where her love can be free.
There is an apartment just above her and she is
reaching to the man of her dreams, to his handsome
stature, wishing to hear him sing…
She is beautiful and she is wistful and hers is a
stubborn rustling of leaves, sounding like feathers
anticipating flights of freedom.
And if the blind man would return to wake the man
dying upstairs she could live peacefully again, her
wishes her own, and her faithfulness redeemed.