Tall. Arms folded in a double-arm-grip.
Her head is turned to the left, away from me
so I cannot see her face, only a sliver of profile,
and the right edge of her sunglasses.
Shoulder length brown hair.
Grey sweater with black stripes.
Tight fitting dark blue jeans with a pink cell phone
sticking out of her right back pocket.
Light blue New Balance sneakers.
A few scarce inches of skin exposed
between the opening of her sneakers
and the hem of her jeans.
White nail polish. Good posture.
A human being with her own sack of life slung
over her shoulder.
A Julie, or an Emily. Possibly a Kate.
A short name, I’m certain of it.
I love her, but will never see her again.
I love her standing there, looking off to the left,
waiting in line for her strawberry lemonade.
I love her, having observed her. The shape of her.
This stranger.
I love every part of her. The light blue sneakers,
the grey and black striped sweater,
the pink cell phone and white nail polish;
the deep raging stillness of her.