Carole Towers lives and writes in St. Augustine, Florida.

At the Super Market
By Carole Towers

all over your red blouse fear
and the purple skirt
and your mother looking at you furtively
all the time
as your clothes swayed on your bones
so delicate like green branches on a birch tree
or stalks of lilies
that smell like water
waiting in line near you I saw your fragile breaths
in and out and observing your thin wind blown body
I knew just then  you were never to taste lovers—
always to fear evening -never to hear children laughing—sweet old rose red silk
red shirt falling petals
waiting in line from your thorn life
and afraid I would never see you again.