The Girl with the Short Hair

(Za Gordanu)

The Girl with the Short Hair

She is back,
The girl with the short hair.
She doesn’t say where she has been
Or how long she is staying,
She only waves and beckons
From across the street,
Points at her open sandals
And summer tan,
Laughs with her
Forest-honey eyes.

Her hand plays with
The bristle of her hair
Uncovered by hat,
Her long bare arms,
Like half-moons,
In a magic swish
Pull a screen of indigo
Across the sky
Sprinkling a winking
Star or two.

She whistles of far-away places,
And squints to spot
The fanned-out horizons
Through lowered lashes,
Trailing behind her
Gurgly children, brass bands,
And cat gangs,
Ignoring the ringing phones
In empty booths
Along the way.

“It’s me,”
(She doesn’t have to say,)
“Where have you been?”
And suddenly the surprise
Of my own absence
Unfurls like a scarf of grief,
And I have no answer
But open my arms
And “I am back,”
(I don’t have to say).