Waiting in line at the supermarket checkout late at night, I find myself listening to a woman at the next till who’s just paid for her groceries. She smiles at the cashier and says, ‘thank you for all your help’, still smiling as she tucks her receipt and change into her purse. And the smile remains as she pushes her trolley towards the door.
She’s still with me while I drive home. Her pale blue coat, how her shoulders were a little hunched. And the way her eyes and cheeks, not only her lips, carried her smile, how it seemed rooted below her skin.
Today, I am still thinking about her. Thinking I should smile more. Thinking about softness.
winter sun
the shadow of a leaf touches
my shadow
She’s still with me while I drive home. Her pale blue coat, how her shoulders were a little hunched. And the way her eyes and cheeks, not only her lips, carried her smile, how it seemed rooted below her skin.
Today, I am still thinking about her. Thinking I should smile more. Thinking about softness.
winter sun
the shadow of a leaf touches
my shadow
by Lynne Rees
Kent, England
first published in Roadrunner, Feb. 2007
1 comment:
prose and haiku work excellent together
best wishes,
Angelika
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