Standing Under A Tree
born on 10/29/89
Standing under a tree,
the damp air of the park fills my lungs
with each breath,
making my chest
heavy.
The musty smell of the wet leaves
on the ground
causes my nose to
twitch.
As raindrops trickle down my face
tickling it,
I catch the glimpse
of an old womans
stare.
Sitting on a bench,
her wrinkled, leathery knuckles
are firmly gripped around
the handle of a tattered umbrella
tilted over
her.
Her stare waves
at my curiosity
and draws me
near.
The closer I come,
the once happy pigeons
dancing around her feet
scatter
warning others of my
arrival.
I peer into her
dark, sullen eyes,
they have no invitation for
me.
Slowly, I pick up my right
and place it on the ground
as my left instinctively follows
in the pattern
and I pass on by her,
now, with no
direction.
