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Chocolate Girl

I discovered a hair one evening

in a bar of chocolate:

as I bit into its sweetness

a single strand remained entangled

in my teeth, quite four inches

so I knew it wasn’t mine


And as I pulled its tickle from my lips

and held it glinting to the light

its auburn richness glowed at me as if

from somewhere beyond a frosted glass


Did she comb her hair that morning, sitting

at her window seat, sun warming bare shoulders—

hair she might have unpinned the night before

to let down in soft spangles over her lover

as she rose over him, a dusky flower, rose

and fell, each stroke of petals soft across his chest?


Did she listen to the birds that day

on her way to the factory

give the cat a plate of milk

paint her fingernails, choose a special scarf?


Did she see me sitting there

in the back row of the cinema

that evening, so close she could have

leaned aside a fraction as she extracted

the last morsels of popcorn from her box,

allow her long hair to accidentally brush my arm

and leave me believing in dusky whisperings

chocolate longings that lingered for decades?


Somewhere beyond a frosted glass, waiting,

did she see me there?

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© Johnmichael Simon



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