Only In a Different Life
Looking through the window of a shop,
I see you with a woman.
She lifts long auburn hair
while you, who stand behind her,
are fastening a strand of pearls
around her slender neck.
I close my eyes envisioning. . .
I've opened them to you
facing me,
and I'm the woman
with the red-brown locks!
You touch my cheek, and in your eyes
I read an urgent need.
You lead me to the door,
around the corner to an empty alley.
Our bodies press together.
In the chill of night,
I taste warm, wild kisses on my mouth.
"Darling, my darling," escapes my lips,
then suddenly my reverie is broken. . . .
A passerby has stopped
to place a dollar in my cup.
Murmuring my thanks,
I gaze once more into the store
where diamond rings and necklaces glitter
like new snow beneath a winter moon.
The man whom I could know
only in a different life,
who stands inside the store
where I could never go,
takes his sweetheart's hand
and leads her past me
pretending not to see
a common homeless woman
who yearns for so much more
than mere necessities.
For the Seeker's Being Homeless Poetry Contest
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