The Pause

I'm one to fall into the trap of thinking
the ones who go unnoticed are the ones
most worth knowing

that sweater
turquoise knit
an excess of geometric cabling for any
one torso, that mustard turtle-
neck, and thighs entubed in tight
white jeans--articles of clothing which
must have gone together laid out
on the bed or in her eyes
laid out for matching but clash
now in the sun like plastic wrappers
where they plainly don't
belong, but they're there--
you can touch them

inward, she's opening packs of photos
everything timidly, carefully
peeling back adhesive flap
removing fat packed envelope

photos, in solitary review
the rushes, out in the sun of a roofdeck café
nostalgia photos--glossed
flash-pictures taken at a community play

inward, distant, the city closed out.
smiles, the nostalgiac view of two weeks past
the having of good friends
the rush of life, of theatrics in costume
herself as someone else
and boldly

the pause.
not noticing me noticing.
done with the first pack she
closes it neatly, sets it aside, looks up--
at nothing at the sky as
pleased as she is withdrawn.

into the second, outdoor shots with friends
some fellow in red stripes somewhere in every one.
slowly. with the sweet joy of having memories
to look at, like a man surveying his harvested fields
squinting into the sun

done, she stretches
triumphantly relaxed
going so far as to slide
her thumbs into front belt loops
she slouches, reaches out
takes coffee cup in hand
draws it through the afternoon
to her lips--

sips
and goes through them all again