Sunday, January 25, 2004
American Miss
She walked fast because her legs were short. The black denim pressed and relaxed as she paced. Press. Relax. From where I stood, I could hear the rubber of her thick, short shoes slide against the grit of the street.
She pushed thick, black hair behind an ear, a gesture like thinking while listening. Did she see me?
Slipping her necklace between T-shirts, she moved on. Her wrist shook -- the skin so light -- as she adjusted it. The thick sweater flapped heavily in the wind against her ever-moving hip. Buttoned at just one link, the bottom, it was slight comfort -- a warmth within. The way she tucked her hands into the sleeves of her sweater -- the pull of the fabric, a straightening -- this was . . .
She pushed thick, black hair behind an ear, a gesture like thinking while listening. Did she see me?
Slipping her necklace between T-shirts, she moved on. Her wrist shook -- the skin so light -- as she adjusted it. The thick sweater flapped heavily in the wind against her ever-moving hip. Buttoned at just one link, the bottom, it was slight comfort -- a warmth within. The way she tucked her hands into the sleeves of her sweater -- the pull of the fabric, a straightening -- this was . . .
