on my way to work, I found, under the heft of the tree by the bus stop,a polaroid, waterlogged and torn in half, of a girl, her face enshrouded by an opaque, inscrutable cloud (faulty flash? slow shutter speed setting?).
an arm, glistening with sweat, of an eerily disembodied brawny man clasped her by her svelte waist.
the girl was faceless, alright, but she, her aura, feels familiar -- fellow bus rider, grocery bagger, daughter, young, virgin mother.
after work, suffused with a pilgrim's will, I went back to the tree hoping to witness again the transfixing image by the curbside but all that was waiting for me were two soggy white castle soda tumblers and a crushed empty pack of marlboro lights.
a block down, a letter carrier left unattended his tri-wheeled postal bag by the curbside. a shaggy white dog walked by a heavily coated lady could not stop sniffing at the bag.
after yanking the dog's collar several times, the old lady tottering in her clunky orthopedic shoes finally convinced her mutt to go her way, back, perhaps, to their confining apartment.
it wasn't five yet but the tree, its bare arms runneling towards the damp roadside, hulked over me like a giant filigreed cathedral about to close its doors after hosting the last mass of the day.
from where I was, i could still see the dog yapping happily towards home, his snubbed tail waggling fitfully from side to side like a whiteboard eraser expunging all interest he had before for the untold goodies in the neglected postal bag.
sometimes, I just pray for a leash, short and severe, to rein me in at times when untold stories-stray pictures, mails not for me- ensnarl me, beguile me, like an ecclesiastical icon, its true meaning, the fable, the fiction behind it, byzantine, too tortuous to tell.