a little girl, maybe three or four years old,
stands behind the closed screen door
to her dilapidated house and watches
a stranger walk by. she says, daddy left.
she says, daddy. the stranger
looks at her as he passes. she says, daddy!
across the street and down two, a hatchback
has a freshly-broken window. pebbly
glass is scattered on the car and on the street.
three blocks further up, a tall and slender
blonde woman carries her bags and workpapers
to her truck. she gets in and starts it up.
her perfume leaves a portion of itself
on the still and cool pre-sunrise air.
the scent lingers. she drives away.
sunflowers stand in her lawn, facing
this way and that, waiting for the sun.
the shadow of the earth
sinks in the western sky.
sparse clouds turn pink, then gold.
the stranger passes again, heading
back the way he came. the little girl
is gone from behind the screen door.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)