Arrival

Girl on the BART train to Milbrae

There was a cut-off and she just made it (suitcase in hand); it was pink beyond flamingo and bubble gum, she wore an aqua marine fleece and turquoise socks, all the pastels of the resurrection; had she told me anything or that she was coming from the resurrection, despite the month I wouldn't have called her a Juliar.

Lake Merritt stop she fixes her hair; it was less broken and more scattered like the twists from a stigma waving at a crowd of strangers. I don't know this city one bit. There is now a stereo playing crudely for us by a rider, and she taps her tiny feet, easter egg blue socks cracking and all over easy white shoes.

The moment is losing, I need someone else but don't have her; a bookworm turns out of an apple computer, white in her apparel, plain shoes beneath an isle of stasis.

I turn back to the other, she is not directly taking -- she has -- the contours of being taking, the mystery solves itself. Her purse has an anchor stitched on it, her lips carry the same baggage weighing down like a bough holding a cradle in bedtime taciturn.

I wouldn't believe that there is sorrow in such light feet. She gets off one before me, the bough finally does it breaking and a smile carries her -- like wind through the trees-- onto the checkered tile.