I Confess

I stalked her

in the grocery store: her crown

of snowy braids held in place by a great silver clip,

her erect bearing, radiating tenderness,

the way she placed yogurt and avocadoes in her basket,

beaming peace like the North Star.

I wanted to ask, “What aisle did you find

your serenity in, do you know

how to be married for fifty years, or how to live alone,

excuse me for interrupting, but you seem to possess

some knowledge that makes the earth burn and turn on its axis—"

—

—

.”

But we don’t request such things from strangers

nowadays. So I said, “I love your hair.”