Not Writing Today

I
There is an old woman who crosses this street
everyday in the early morning, with my help.

I eat breakfast on my porch and watch her
slide imperceptibly down the sidewalk and stop

at the curb like an empty train car. That's
when I get up and cross over to her.

She never looks at me, but when I pick up
her big hand she can move again.

When we cross the street, she's the one
who lets go and keeps on walking.

II
She didn't come one day, and I sat there
until noon with an unfinished egg.

III
Today she came back and when she stopped
I sat there eating and sipping tea.

She looked for me once, put one foot down,
and set out like a heavy boat into the sea.