Michelle Brock
Happenstance
Last week . . .
you sitting on the wall between the purple hebes
watching, waiting for me to notice
your eyes brown
mine blue.
Me, bowing my head then raising my arm
You, lifting yours as if in response.
Did our minds touch? Did I imagine a smile?
Just yesterday . . .
seedheads brushing my calves
I stumble upon you
with the others
in the brittle grass
just before the sky opens
into a thunderstorm.
And this morning . . .
as a magpie chortle rises to meet the sky
you, standing outside my window
ears pricked
listening.
And right now . . .
my pen stumbling across the page
scratching for words,
and me wishing with all my heart
that I could speak kangaroo.
