At the center of a book
there are strings to keep the whole mess together
but what is in the center of a woman
whose eyes are connected to yours
through a wide space of nothing?
A memory? a tiny indication
A purpose? a small desire
A woman? a little girl
Maybe she sees things in the future
or has held life in her hands, pure as water.
Maybe her aging mother has made her promise
not to worry about money before marriage.
Maybe she knows how to shoot a gun,
and mix a margarita.
Like to think that something is present,
there between the pieces of a broken heart.
Like to think that pulsing through her blood
are hidden secrets, feelings, and unanswered questions.
Like to think that maybe she's looking at me too.
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