3046. LOVE, DISTANCE, NONCHALANCE

LOVE, DISTANCE, NONCHALANCE
Of all the noble young women I've seen, this
was the finery's best : a Mogen-David doubter,
a chickadee of the highest array. She'd only
sat down once, I saw. Bare-feet cresting on the

wooden railing, near where the white porch
crossed the stairway; some crazy magazine in
her hand. No slouch, more a crouch of an overtly
determined stance - love, distance, nonchalance.
-
I quickly remembered a Christmas Eve, long
ago, when three at-lunch postal workers, off
their routes, had sat together for a pizza lunch
at their local Italian counter. They talked of
nothing, really, two guys and a girl; squiring
back and their jovial talk, surmising meanings
from nothing and mirth, joke and froth, back
and forth. Yes, yes, it was their noonday Christmas
Eve, but so what and 'yeah, glad now that it's over.'
All that Christmas rush and traffic,
I guess; cards and mail, one real mess.
-
I would have thought they'd have all given it up.
But (back to today) this presence astounded.
Blue eyes like tarnished gold, set back and
distant, small and sharp. A birdlike wren,
stabbing at my heart.