Can They Not See Her?

What is this unconscious membrane that allows image but not soul?

A seeing with no impression

A glance of non-existence

The young couple strolls up from behind, engaged in familiar banter

With purpose in their tandem steps, they pass by and go on

Can they not see her?

A man follows, in one hand a spray of fiery poppy reds and baby-cheek pinks, jeweled purples, lacy waving greens and soldier stalks

Paper bag with twisted top, cork peeking a mottled eye, belying the wine held in his other hand

A downward gaze as his steps pass by

Can he not see her?

Frail wisp dressed in days gone-by, fabric of grays and blues

Hair so white, fine and sparse, translucent in the bright sun

Struggling, struggling with each halting step

Skirt shifting about the little sticks that once needed no cane

Scuffed sturdy shoes, shuffling along, shuffling along

Flimsy plastic bag holding her purchase, rip sliding along a steel arm, impeding her steps

Little penny purse swinging with each thud

Labored breath as they pass by

Thud-thud of her walker

No offer of a kind hand

All pass by

Can they not see her?

Tall lithe woman, small one in tow

One little arm up, one slender arm down,

Big fingers gently folding over little ones

She looks ahead, consumed with measured step

He looks up with a curious look

She that is not seen looks down and offers a withered smile

Big grin covers a freckled face as tow-arm gently urges him forward

Someone sees her

His soul greets hers

The dulling membrane has not yet enveloped him

And she goes on, goes on…