by John P. Kristofco
Sat there smoking, reading texts,
her old black car purring in the chill October air,
dark hair swept to shoulders
rounded like the hillsides
shaped by years behind that wheel;
the wrinkle of her mouth,
shadows at the corners of her eyes,
skin that caught the yellow morning light,
lips too thin, it seemed, to hold the weight of smile
though soft enough to understand.
She looked up just as I went by
like traffic, moments,
centuries,
the balance point of light and dark
as if she knew the minds of birds,
the words of wind in trees,
then looked back down into whatever well
it was that satisfied her thirst,
this vision, art,
mind, heart,
this countenance of soul.
Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing