(a later version, written when I thought I'd lost the first one)
I don’t know what she’s thinking. Her eyes look up, the camera
can’t get close enough to capture the long brush between her teeth.
She holds something between her elbows. She’s sitting on a curb
in a blue blouse with black striped pants, her blonde hair coiffed,
her toes between the sandals’ straps; a book, The Thinking Body,
beside her purse. I was reaching puberty when I came to love her.
(10-11 January 2014)
copyright 2014 by Floyce Alexander