by Jim Zola
As the lady in the pink knit cap
weaves down the opposite side
of the street, she shouts to no one
I can see, short staccato bursts,
almost lyrical, an angry song.
She holds something precious against
her chest. I see her several times
a week and know her enough not
to be surprised by her baldness
if she were ever to take off
her hat. The facts are easy
to forget. I watch her stutter step
away to become part of night’s
diorama, this hymn of streetlight.
Jim Zola has worked in a warehouse, as a security guard, in a bookstore, as a teacher for deaf children, as a toy designer for Fisher Price, and currently as a children’s librarian. Published in many journals through the years, his publications include a chapbook, The One Hundred Bones of Weather (Blue Pitcher Press), and a full-length poetry collection, What Glorious Possibilities (Aldrich Press). He currently lives in Greensboro, NC.