cigarette.
I saw a woman just outside the building
where I buy organics beets for weekly soup.
she released a whistle of fog colored smoke
I liked. I still like its scent, despite
the roster of prohibitions. sheepish yes
bequeathed to my party favored life before
this onset of blessed purity
for which I prayed.
is it armistice day? I feel as though
the woman with the cigarette shares
the celebration and the disappointment
coming through my pores.
we have not spoken, I just watch
what she is doing, as if
present tense were simple
and accessible and full of unvetted bravery.
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