A Stranger by Saeed Jones

A Stranger

I wonder if my dead mother still thinks of me.

I know I don’t know her new name. I don’t know

 

her, not now. I don’t know if “her” is the word

burning in a stranger’s mind when he sees my dead

 

mother walking down the street in her bright black

dress. I wonder if he inhales the cigarette smoke

 

that will eventually kill him and thinks “I wish I knew

a woman who was both the light and every shadow

 

the light pierces.” I wonder if a passing glance at my dead

mother is enough to make a poet out of anyone. I wonder

 

if I’m the song she hums as she waits for the light to change

or if I’m just the traffic signal holding her up.