She spoke of Mama, but from where did she come? From what distance traveled and at what cost?
People see the likes of her and they think they know: the leopard stance set to take things, the golden halo elevating skyward, the animistic smile that out-whites a camera-flash. They think they know – but they are idiots and thank Jehovah you’re not them.
Shifts in perspective are needed, lives lived in the blink of an eye and many assumptions abandoned. If you are wise you will not think of this as another week-long runway, you will not assume another romance sans chance? You will say Are you ready? and jump in as if the rest of your life depends on it.
And as the sunlight reflects off the bay and soaks into her bronze-black skin, And the intuition that this is no ordinary human begins to set in, You won’t jump to conclusions or you’ll miss it:
She’ll let you carry her for a minute, She’ll speak with care about small things and laugh about people back home, She’ll speak of Mama and you’ll listen and wonder when you should go into your usual things – which now seems senseless, like wiping down the table before a hurricane. Save your questions and listen. No one knows just how far she has come.
