I cried out, “There she is!”
The crowd turned as one.
But they saw nothing.
She was gone.
They shook their heads.
Then looked at me
like I was either a charlatan
or a fool.
But I swear to you,
I saw her.
She had long blonde hair.
A pale face.
Slim body.
And she wore a long white robe.
Her feet were bare.
She appeared out of nowhere
and disappeared the same way.
The crowd dissipated.
A few even thumped me
as they passed,
purposely
though they made out
like it was just an accident.
Eventually,
I was all alone.
That, of course,
is when she reappeared.
I wasn’t surprised.
Merely disappointed.
I had not yet
learned to appreciate
what was mine alone.
If others didn’t know,
I reckoned,
then how could I.
She beckoned with her finger,
a lip-splicing tongue,
The moment
had need of so many.
And I was the only one there.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, North Dakota Quarterly and Lost Pilots. Latest books, ”Between Two Fires”, “Covert” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in California Quarterly, Seventh Quarry, La Presa and Doubly Mad.