A shop in town
with windows draped
in lost and found kept secrets
from another day escaping
little drawers
whipped together in careless array
caught my eye
and nipped and tugged at me
to know what was inside.
At first assailed
by the stale smell of old
pearls cameos jewelry galore
spilt on tables
furniture crowding aisles and more
fingering plates with golden rims
vases and lace I didn’t need
I spied amidst the treasures there
a rather odd curiosity.
Almost hidden
among the piles of books
stacked round her like canyon walls
tall and weighed down
with long gray hair
a witchy woman
wearing a mix of fine and funky
in colors meant for wooden floors
she lowered lashes to veil
the link between her and me.
Left to browse
my curiosity aroused by the sight
eyes lined with ink black lips and all
she looked very punk yet old as the hills
I wondered what her story might be
and stole furtive glances past
tapestry Tiffany and the shop’s precious best
to where she wondered if I meant to buy.
Until she, too, was eying me and said at last
“See anything of interest?”
a smile . . . “No, thanks” . . . as I headed for the door
a little white tale the truth be told
it wasn’t for sale for sure
the most interesting thing
in the shop to behold
was undoubtedly
her.