Horrocks Lady
Weeks later
After I first strolled by in the February snow
Strings of fruit
Left out across the park
For birds and all sorts of wonderful creatures
And after I wrote a poem
And speculated
Who this mysterious park shepherd
Might be
In the unspoiled hunger of my mind and heart
Feminine Giver of Life
Was my hope
I see her far ahead
Yes
I knew it
A woman
Though it’s hard to tell with all our winter burdens
Wrapped around us from head to foot
She wobbles in a tattered squall of snow
Bent over a trail
With a breadcrumb bag of apples and oranges
Opened
To her mittened hand
Spreading stems and juice and sunflower seed
In the winter
With so few of us around
We own this park and make our own rules
Drawn
From we the few souls
Who have no need for words or direction
From above
Or below
But only share the lonely air and wind
Snowflakes
I note she now has a long stick
And way ahead
Appears to be writing a message on the trail snow
O SMILE
I do
Toward the end of our walks
I catch up to her since she stops
Often
Like me
Our existence is but nose chin and lips
Protruding under our wool hats sunglasses
Puffy coats
Boots
I like what you do I said
Thank you
“Just trying to get some people off their phones
Find nature”
She shrugs
“Some people call me the Horrocks Lady”
I hesitate then as usual
But with little filter
And desperate for the possible discovery of magic
I reply
I wrote a poem about you
It wondered who you are
“Thank you” she says and with that
Gives me her bent back
Reaches into her bag
And sweeps the palm of her hand
Atop the frozen ground
As another snow squall separates us
From our
Or really
My
Momentary hold on reality.
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