I approached quietly , and left
a small piece of my heart,
on the park bench.
As if somehow leaving it there,
meant I was waiting for the day , no , not even the day,
for some permission.
Would he see it?
Would he care?
Or would it simply be one more
discarded, tumbled, forgotten grubby lost unknown treasure. I watch with all the hopes , despairs, confusions, joys, consternation…………. Abruptly , the man who lives in the apartment above me grabs my arm , and with sudden fervor
pulls me down from my window perch , where I watch so anxiously . Racing , with a strength I would not , no , could not have thought his own bird-like body could possess, hurriedly we go, skipping first one step , and then two steps at a time ………..and then we are there.
And me, the girl. I am standing , out of breath, trying to think of the words to explain .
The painted rock.
The old man.
I am only a child here.
My words are jumbled.
There is nothing for me to say, it is just a grubby , lost unknown treasure, I mumble.
It is okay, the boy says. The old man is his uncle. The boy is NOT new here, the old man says, he has seen that you like books, and walks. And benches. And wanting to learn about quiet things, like that which is discarded, and hopes, and unknown treasures. And in time, together , you will think of the right words to explain.