PenWomanShip

We were passing
through the shade
and sunny spotlights
on the boardwalk,
through the weeds
and woods
and wilds
the Greensboro Bog Garden
offers up.

I was arriving-
blue jeans pockets
stuffed with baggies
stuffed with bread crumbs
for the ducks or geese or turtles, fish,
whatever I would find.

You were leaving-
linen pantsuit rustling,
bangles clanging,
high heels stumbling.

We were passing-
"Isn't this..."
we each/both uttered
in the instant
when a cloud of milkweed tufts
came wafting through
the space between us,
"beautiful?" "horrible?"

We each/both paused and blinked,
shook heads, refocused,
then continued
down the same path/
different journeys.
We were passing.