She walks so easily down the concourse,
the young woman in the short dress and sandals,
her purse slung across her slender shoulder.
She’s not encumbered by much that I can see—
no children pulling on her shirt, no carry on
rolling behind her, no backpack or heavy purse.
I can’t help but notice how light she might feel,
what with her skiff of a sundress. I can almost smell
the freedom like a perfume she doesn’t know
she is wearing. I was like her, once, at least that
is what I would like to think, though I know better
than to project this way. It is easy to imagine
that she is free in ways I once was, though
never knew. Who can say what invisible chains
weight us down. Looking back, I notice
how little I noticed then. On a whim,
I decide to pretend I am older now looking back
at myself. Oh look, look at her, how light she is.