Porcelain

Long porcelain face

Pensive stare

Straight lip

Raven hair

This girl I met in the field

Asked me my name

And my own lips went numb

My brain stopped its usual cycle of clumsy response

Forgot time, space, word, name

In the face of unmistakable, untarnished yet filthy beauty

She stood

Waiting

Like a vision in that gauzy white dress

And all I could do

Was stare at the ground

As bits of the hair on my arm raised in the cool wonder of the moment

The wind whooshed and

She was gone

I finally found the word

Whispered it, uselessly

Would that small syllable have made her stay just one moment longer?

The wind blows through the wheat

Ravens soar above

I think of my mother’s fine china

And I will never truly know

This girl I met in the field