Dedicated In Pectore
I sit on the bench behind them.
They are a family of four.
The husband throws a ball to his wife
As gently as he can.
Their girl and boy run circles
Between them
Trying to intercept it.
They rarely do.
I watch the wife.
They are Muslim:
She is dressed
In that black and covering garb
Denoting modesty.
Her scarf and robe
Flutter all about her
In the wind.
I am a witness to their happiness.
After the simple game has run its course,
The children have gone off
Somewhere I cannot see.
The husband and wife sit under a tree
Some distance from me.
In the shade,
They are a silhouette of two, together.
I cannot move from the bench.
A tree shadow lengthens,
Then engulfs me.
Steven Golden
March 26, 2008
stevengoldenpoetry 