9 May 2012
A woman girl at gate eighteen stops stands stock still to the spot rooted
Half her face pale bleached white in the New Year dawn is turned toward me the rest concealed by light arriving only in straight lines
Half a smile is flickering lost or something in between a moment that she caught herself aware
Her purse there on the worn hard stretch of grey blue carpet threadbare and harsh fallen out down of care
Here, she bends a doe at feed gathering seeds from a split feed packet a farmer tends as a dancer capoeira splits his sequence piece by piecemeal beads and quartz are added, pushed not forced into sheet mosaic pattern stumbles made by drunks though innocence holds him/he/her/they she is debunked and ungraceful graceful stepped out for a second
Her second grab and curse belies a humour fond of books family, sisters with children fantasy wealth balanced with new pastures leather and kids of her own but not yet
A woman girl at gate eighteen stops retrieving her dropped purse she carries on unabashed resumed supreme
J. x
A Dublin Girl • Opuss № I