She might be seen
sitting at a bus stop
her hands peeking out of her sleeves
or found
spinning awkwardly on a bar stool
the smell of pot and tobacco
in the air
Sometimes Poppy will gaze at ships
and wonder if they're going
on an expedition to Antarctica
if they'll see the Northern Lights
Or she's in her room
where she packs a bag
time and again
for a trip she may never take
But now she's sitting next to him
rubbing sea glass and pebbles
between her fingers
she stands and throws
the small stone as far as she can
it's not very far
Her mind then turns to the night
with short stolen kisses
under street lamps
where her lips should not be pressed
the second time
he came toward her
Now she looks into his eyes
and studies the small hints of color in them
the memories hidden behind his irises
she thinks that
maybe
she's falling in love