Looking around, part 3
A pretty little girl tightly clutched the quarter Momma had given her to put in the slot and get a round red cherry-flavored gumdrop when they left the shop. This guy’s name is Matthew, it says on his name tag. He’s on a break from a conference for gay men wanting to heal from the hatred wielded against them all their lives by ignorant people. And how lovely, that bright-eyed black-haired fellow halfway through his twenties, rehearsing in his mind the words he will use when, on bended knee, he plans to ask his sweetheart to marry him. to be continued . . .
The poem feels like those moments when you catch yourself watching strangers and suddenly realize how much life they carry. The little girl gripping her coin is such a sweet, familiar scene you can almost see her excitement. Then Matthew steps in, and there’s this quiet weight around him, the kind that comes from years of being hurt for simply existing. It’s impossible not to feel for him. And right after, we meet the young man practicing a proposal, full of nerves and hope, like someone rehearsing a future he desperately wants. Putting these three together makes the world feel both fragile and beautiful. It reminds us that everyone around us is living something real, even if we never hear the story.