I stalked her
in the grocery store: her crown
of snowy braids held in place by a
great silver clip,
her erect bearing, radiating
tenderness,
the way she placed yogurt and
avocadoes in her basket,
beaming peace like the North Star.
I wanted to ask, "What aisle did
you find
your serenity in, do you know how
to be married for 50 years, or how to
live alone,
excuse me for interrupting, but you
seem to possess
some knowledge that makes the earth
burn and turn on its axis."
But we don't request these things
from strangers
nowadays. So I said "I love your
hair."
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