For Marek, to Mary

And Judy’s eyes were blue indeed,
an unhinged cerulean blue,
a blue of finger-paints and
crinkled newssheet.

And Judy’s lips were sweet indeed,
a heather-blossom honey sweet,
breath fragrant and intoxicated mix of
Marlboro and guilessness.

And Judy’s saunter, across a crowded room, could break the coldest heart.
The false bravado,
the hesitant confrontation, inherent in
each forward step.

And Judy’s hands were small and strong,
with fingers blunt,
twisting in constant agitas
a knot of tendon, chip of bone.

And Judy’s heart was raw to see,
held as it was,
on carefully pressed
sleeve.

Judy of the blue eye, Judy of the sweet lip,
sauntering hip,
small hands, raw heart,
what have you become?