The Walker
January 20, 2014 § Leave a comment
Her eyes are always fixed ahead
on some unseen ghost
after which she is chasing.
She travels the earth, it seems,
circling and circling,
walking past my window
three times a day
maybe more.
She moves with purpose
pushing her way into the open space
just beyond the tip of her worm out
tennis shoe, but she never seems
to be able to fill the space,
it’s always just out of her reach.
Her hand is always stuck
perhaps by glue, or force, or need
to her cell phone
which is stuck on the other side
to her ear.
She talks loudly
but its strange,
we never know what she is saying.
Her face is serious and downcast
as if she has life-changing conversations
on every walk she takes
with whoever sits patiently
on the other side of the phone.
Sometime I imagine it’s her son
who hears his phone ring every day at ten
diligently answers
places it on speaker
sets it on his desk
and prepares himself for his mother’s
five hour walk.
rosepoems 
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