Sabrina

You don’t see her,

Standing there.

No, there –

See?

Under the lamplight

Bathed in that golden

“American moon.”

I tell you,

She’s there

You don’t see her

But I do.

No, I’m not crazy.

I tell you,

She’s right there.

Her long black hair

Curls so softly over her shoulders.

See? You can’t see her

Her long pink jacket

And her neatly manicured fingers.

Her soft, sad, smile,

Because she knows, you see,

That you don’t see.

For pity’s sake!

See her!

Look at her!

Or miss forever,

Her faint shadow

As she turns and walks

Away.

You didn’t see her.

I tell you, she was there.

What was she like, you ask?

She was the sand

In your hourglass

With all the captured potential

Of each grain.

She was the nestling robin

Shuddering before her first flight.

Crying as she stumbled over the brink

Only to discover the wind beneath her wings.

She was that shimmering

Rainbow.

Untouchable, even on film.

But perfect, evasive, beautiful.

She was all this

And you didn’t see her

Bathed in the light of

An American Moon.

And you will never know

What you missed.

January 19, 2007