I love the anchor on your arm
That timeless tattoo
I love the swing in your stride down the steps
After using the ladies' room

I love the palette of your skin
Some would say you could use a bath
But to me you are clean and textured
Like good dirt in a garden

I love how you hook your tongue in the corner of your mouth
When you put away the coffee cups
And firmly arrange the mysteries behind the counter
Wiping this and that with a warm rag

I love how you rub your cheek with your shoulder
Tuck your hair behind your ear
Pause to write yourself a note
Sip from a straw and stir the ice cubes
Sneeze and excuse yourself with a high, Whoo!
Keep moving

I love that messy apron
It's the color of your lips
And how you lean to one side
Your hands on your hips

I love the fact that I wish I were you
That the story you are writing with your life
Will turn out to be true
And that I don't know the name of the protagonist

You walk around
A girl at work
A woman at play
You seem to know what to say
Your gift to the world is being alive
In an unassuming way

So anchor me anchor girl
I am at sea in this too-large world
These days and nights we're given
Sweep me downstream
And I close my eyes
And know I should be swimming
Not just drifting

I hope I am not stealing something you need
If for some reason I happen to think
Of your anchor arm
Handing a gift to me

. . .

copyright 2001, Linford Detweiler