Her legs are wrapped tightly
in the floral designs on her stalkings,
and everyone’s eyes trace their lines
when they look at her. Even the children
want to try and talk with her and give her
single flowers they swiped from the vases
at the centers of the tables. She chuckles
at them and accepts them so as not to be
rude, and talks about dresses with the little
girls that come up to her and ask how they
can be pretty like she is. The old men with their
thick glasses and gray beards spin her on the
dance floor like they did so often back in their prime,
and the old women pour her shots of whiskey while
repeatedly telling her not to settle and have fun.
The ones who had her time long ago glance over
occasionally from a great distance, and understand
they never stood a chance.
Heartfelt Distance
Teleporting Typewriter 