Her hand is tracing a face;
she sees it where her fingertips are
running down the cheek,
following along the jaw,
sweeping off the chin.
And then it seems
she doesn’t see it anymore;
standing outside Tesco’s,
her hands in mid air,
tears running down her face.
Nor does she see the procession of stares,
that great gobbling curiosity,
but gathers herself and bag,
crosses to the green grocer’s
and is, in a moment,busy pricing lettuce.
No comments:
Post a Comment