There is a woman
who dwells in my neighborhood.
Nowhere in particular,
everywhere, in fact.
She's a creature of the sun and rain
because she can only be spotted when the fruit trees have had an easy winter.
And she is like a makeshift fruit tree herself
because her mischievous brown branches
tend to reach out and pluck
the fruit from the resident's trees,
planted carelessly at the edges of their lawns.
I see her when I'm in the car,
passing by.
That's the way we share time together, separately.
Which is sad
because it's really only
glimpses of time that I watch her.
And I like to watch her the same way
the quiet girl watches bad classmates
speak out in class.
With a silent
"yeah."
Only there's no fear of punishment.
Just disbelieving kids
and disapproving moms
who may or may not
ever DO anything about it.
But no one will take the fruit
from her arms
because they're too afraid
that she might
need it.