while shopping one day
for Christmas gifts
in stores I can ill afford;
my eyes, glazing at the prices,
unfocused for a bit
to gaze at the reflections --
snowflakes in a window
(trite, of course, but so appealing
in their ritual sameness,
their predictability;
so like the world
we sometimes wish we had) --
and there you were,
sitting on the park bench,
head bowed
(in prayer? in grief?) I wondered...
but surely staggered
tripped and weighted
with the truth of it all,
the unpredictability, irregularity,
all the ways life didn't proceed
as you had hoped or expected.
I'd like to think
I stepped outside myself
for just a moment,
sat with you there on that dark bench
to share the burden of your sorrow,
to join in solemn contemplation
of the troubles
lapping at your feet...
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