Eeksy-Peeksy

augury doggerel

Saturday, June 15, 2002

Hood

She was there again two days ago. We must have shared the bus dozens of times. Someone on the bus, always in the front and never looking back, keeps her sweatshirt hood up. I have never seen her face. She must work in the next building. We get off the bus at the same stop, but she stays ahead on the shortcut over the grass and is still walking just ahead when I turn into work, into worker.

Does she appear only in wet weather? Do I look for her only when it rains? Does she become someone else without the hood? Is she invisible? I see what I take to be hands, but I suppose they could be thin, perfect gloves. I see clothes, a dark blue hooded sweatshirt, simple jeans, simple shoes. The next time, I�ll try to remember to watch for footprints.

On mornings when I would crumple down if I once let up the tensing between bone and opposed bone, when I�m working cat�s cradle figures on my skeleton just to get up and walk, I watch her and she drags me forward. With no face, without even the back of a head and some hair to focus on, she leaves me watching where she would be. She moves, revolution and counterrevolution, over the soft green.

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