A Portrait

To me, you are the mature girl
standing on the corner of Daybreak Street and Sunset Drive.
One leads to the comforts of home.
The other is an exciting and ferocious road.

Your back is to me. The tips of your hair flutter
with the chilly wind blowing down Sunset Drive
toward those who freeze under their meager houses, tents,
and donated sweaters. They have tried
to amount to better, but lucky circumstances fail them.
They need your warmth to be inspired.
Your hand is stretched down that road,

but where does your heart lie?

Your right hand reaches down Daybreak Street
where I see the family home.
Your essence is sentimental.
Brown-yellow leaves in clustered aspen trees
are found only in the backyard.
Confidence is built into the walkway.
I see a place to find life: a husband, a child, a mantra,
and a set of personal cookware.

While you daydream of possibilities,
I find you still standing on the corner.
You turn around and together we sit on the curb
next to the absence of passerby to wait for a sign.

This poem was hard for me to write. I’ve never tried writing a “portrait” of myself before.