Interviews with the people who saw her
There was a boy in the case –
A collection of sticks and colour,
a cap down over his eyes
stilled except for a gently swinging leg
against the café table.
Lollily sucking; manga imagining.
He told me what he saw.
A smiling wizard’s daughter or
Vulpix trapped in a tower,
Someone you could rescue.
The dog could be a helper.
His balloon face, watching me scribe.
A woman saw the woman in her.
She was waiting for a man (but it could have been a woman).
In the time that it took she had per pinned down.
She noticed the clothes – long, flowing, easy.
Like what she saw, in fact.
In the strictest confidence.
Someone else wanted confidentiality and
darted in a book shop to watch
through the large window, between two posters.
He seemed moved, dependent, responsible, still too there.
Torn, he picked up a book, unread it, looked, thought.
I just caught him.
I do not have words for his eyes.
He covered the notebook with his hand
made to go but stole another look.
Like a whole generation passing away.
Talked himself into boldness
but he did not have that killer line.
James A Bullion, June 2009
