Another free-verse originally posted over at Long Awaited’s Poetry Thursday. This is basically a chick-flick in poetry form, though on repeated readings there does seem to be a kind of other-wordly feel to some of it. Maybe neither of them are entirely alive, or one of them is, or it’s just a plain old romance story. I’ll leave it up to you to decide for yourself.
–
The first time
he walks by her
little table
in the sun-lit plaza
she misses him
entirely
because she is
looking
–long, intently–
at the building.
It reflects the light
all arches
steel and stone
reach high and soar
into the cream-blue sky
–beautiful, elegant–
and so she
doesn’t notice his
quick gaze.
He thinks she is
–captivating–
in the golden afternoon
with her dark eyes
pointed far
above his head and
he wishes
–fleeting, wistfully–
that he was just
a fraction
taller to her
notice.
The second time
she strolls by
him in the rain
where he
misses her
barely
as he watches
–tired, absently–
the figures shudder past
in the puddle
at his feet.
The lights shift
and the world dances
–uncertain, trembling–
in the water’s skin
where he
catches glimpses of her heels
and writes it off
to mere
imaginings.
She marks him
–striking–
and wishes he
would leave
reflections
and see her
stepping past.
The next time
he looks
left at the flash
of a camera
–blinding, sudden–
instead.
She glances down
when the crack
nearly trips up her
heels
–jarring, uneven–
and
they walk past.
–Nearly.–
But this time
he turns
as she rounds the
corner golden
sun in her hair
reflects in his eyes
–Sorry, I didn’t–
–No, really, it’s fine–
They step on
together, future
unknown past
the next bend
in the
street.
First time of
many.
–Hello.–
