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parking lot, does
it occur to me that
the fame that brought
me here belongs to
me, not to my mom.
I like how that feels.
WE WEAVE
Through the thinning crowd.
Some have taken their children
home, out of the crisp morning,
away from the threat of snow.
A stab of intuition makes me
survey the knot of people nearby.
Did Nik decide to come after
all? That could be very bad,
all things considered. But when
I assess faces, the one my eyes
grab hold of does not belong
to Nikki. I do not recognize
the man standing just there,
scanning the human sea. So why
do I think I know him? Someone
ducks in front of him, and I lose
momentary sight, but when his
eyes at last connect with mine,
they are green-dappled gray. Piebald.
He turns away suddenly, as if
whoever he was looking for
found him instead. He melts
into the tide of bodies. Faces.
