The Woman Who Is Everywhere

by John Grey


You are everywhere, no question.
That’s your face high up in the pine tree.
Those are your legs moving through the fog,
your arms swinging from that cloud.
I’m only ever in the place
where you’re likely to find me,
though you never do.
But you’ve been sighted in the window
of the tenth floor of an office building,
on the side door of a passing cab,
in a parade, in a football piercing the uprights.
Anywhere there’s anything, you’re there.
You’re supposed to be absent.
So why do your eyes shine
from the floor light in the elevator?
Why is your nose in the bakery window,
your hair swishing on the outdoor clothesline?
The day you left singly,
you arrived in multiples.
So thanks for your presence.
I couldn’t be lonely without it.

©2018 John Grey


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John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in the Homestead Review, Poetry East and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Harpur Palate, the Hawaii Review and North Dakota Quarterly.


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