Her Letter

The envelope lay with the address side face down so

that it would be protected from onlookers. Looking at its back

I felt an emptiness that showed no character, no feeling.

She was hunched so intently over the letter that her position

seemed discomforting to this observer.

One trembling hand was holding the letter

while the other held her head.

Not even her eyes released any emotion

that could be judged.

This observer walked several times

in front of the quaint outdoor café. The bare wrought iron tables

and stark display of the scene

gave a surrealistic, melancholy, feeling to the unsmiling,

unemotional, attractive young woman.

Her beautiful, smooth, young face showed

no signs of happiness or sorrow.

Almost as if she believed by succumbing to the reading it would

cause her to be duped into something

she was unwilling to participate.

Somewhere in the all of this,

life was still for her.

She was oblivious to her surroundings, which

seemed to meld with her mood absolutely.

What she was going through, this observer will never know.

She appeared to stare at every word as if expecting them

to their true meanings.

Around the block, this observer walked, and yet each time,

she was seen reading the letter over again.

I sensed a of kind of sadness deep within her

but it was only a guess.

Something was not right.

When I came around again, she and the few pages were gone.

The wrought iron table in front of the café was again empty.

A Part of Things

By Ejothian S. Litman