Yesterday

Yesterday Yesterday my daughter and I walked through the mall As they began to close shop, lock doors, turn off the lights. She had gotten a haircut followed by a long dinner Served by a Native American woman with a thick waist, Who probably dreamed of bigger things once upon a time. A black baby screamed at her white mother From an adjacent table which her four year old boy Had made into a jungle gym complete with Flying bread and a rocky lemonade waterfall, None of which disturbed the young Latino couple Trying to form some eternal bond in a corner booth Over shared ice cream and awkward smiles - All under the shadow of a moose head mounted on the wall. In the jewelry store a tight lipped white woman cleaned the glass cases, Wiping the fingerprints of young dreamers away. In the nail salon a small Asian employee soaked her feet Laying back in the large leather chair, eyes closed, Oblivious to the man who swept the floor beside her. In children’s clothing a teenage girl arranged miniature outfits For miniature people, hanger after hanger of tiny pink dresses. Even though she is ten now and too old for the devotion She once showered upon me until I wanted to shake it off, She held my hand tightly and bounced along beside me Like she had before she began to turn into a woman. An elderly lady smiled as we passed and grasped The hand of her husband a little tighter, remembering. February 12, 2014