Her frame, slight of build,
Hunched over,
Almost gnome-like in appearance,
Donned a stained and tattered hooded cape.
Within her soul,
The chill of winter and falling snow
Could be read deeply
Within the darkness of the pupils of her topaz-blue eyes,
As she unobtrusively read the
Thoughts of others.
She has so often been misunderstood as
To how the seasons changed in such
Rapid succession,
As read within her eyes…
They would steal the thoughts of others.
Spring and summer were
Fleeting as passing thoughts, or as
Torn paper whisked in an evening breeze,
In late May or early June…
The furrows that deeply aligned her forehead,
Dark as burnt umber or mahogany
Became more pronounced if she were to weep-
Her tears were to be light showers in early spring,
Or black as thunderclouds, lead hued, or dark gray
As graphite…
She could be found on any street corner in
An inner city, or near a bridge,
Or usually upon a nearby park bench
Sipping steaming hot coffee from a dented tin cup.
Sometimes she would sit beneath a tree as she waited for one season to
Change to another, or waiting
One day to pass by to the next.
Perhaps she lived only for the moment,
Somewhat fearful of the sorcery that occurred
When her eyes made contact with others,
Though appreciative of the simplicity of life-
That spring rain,
Colorful foliage in the fall,
The rare beauty of dandelion thistles,
That danced as naiads in an April breeze,
Twigs encased in ice- almost silver, in the winter,
Or just sipping her early morning’s coffee in the park….

Claudia Krizay (schizoclaud)




C.A.K.