The Cashier At the 5 and Dime
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The Cashier at the 5 and Dime
She does not wear paint on her face.
I noticed, there is no war to be found,
around the corners of her mouth...
only a soft crease,
where a smile has worn a path,
worth retracing...
again and again...
with my lips.
There is no spray in her hair,
she does not smell like a fancy place.
When I passed her in church,
the scent of wild coconuts
and fresh Georgia peaches...
came to me.
It was like a perfume cloud,
from the downwind side,
near the gates of Heaven,
surely.
I can not remember what she wore.
Or, even what she will wear the next I see her.
I can not take my eyes from her very being,
the whole sense of what she is,
lights up the room,
and brings the sunshine inside,
on every gray day.
On sunny days,
rays of gold seem to radiate,
from the ends of her hair.
I am taken,
to somewhere I dare not be,
and pray never to come back from,
ever...
again.
I step up and place my items on the belt.
I have been here a few times,
and no one has said a thing.
But truly, I need...
one more item,
to get one more look,
to see her one more time,
then...
I will be fine.
Copyright © Ann Foster | Year Posted 2019
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