that everyone, even the driver in the white jeep
who cut in front of you, yes, even
the elegant woman in the dairy aisle and
the man who seems lost on the library steps
and the child sitting alone on the bench, yes
everyone has a story—fears and hopes
and something to learn and someone they love
and someone who’s hurt them and someone
they long to hold. And though their stories
are mostly invisible, they’re always
more complex than whatever we project
and they’re every bit as real as our own.
The woman in the dairy aisle smiles at you,
and though she is wearing diamonds in her ears,
she looks lonely. Or is it you, who is lonely?
Is it all of us? All of us longing for someone
to truly see us. And that driver you’re cursing,
don’t we all sometimes feel as if we need
to move forward any way we can? And that
boy on the bench, notice the empty seat beside him?
Perhaps you could sit there, too, in the sun.
Who knows what might happen next?