I thought she was a peacock at first,

turquoise, dark blue, metallic green,

spread majestically on a patch of grass

at the busy intersection.

But it was her, spread out in a patchwork

jacket, colors of a psychedelic sunrise,

legs spread this way and that, like

the ballerina she never was.

She could be a person of so many eras –

A flowerchild tripping at the cars,

that weren’t cars, but chariots carrying

princes with shoes to fit her bare feet.

She could be a person really struggling,

simply stopping for a moment’s rest

at this noisy intersection, wearing what 

she could grab from a plastic bag,

not realizing that the effect would be

strikingly beautiful, to me in my chariot,

and remind me of the girl, your sister

I first knew, with language akin to Shakespeare.

The peacock’s high-pitched wail can carry

over one mile, is meant to be terrifying

and alluring at the same time. It is, what 

I believe she was always aiming at,

your sister, your sister that I swore I saw

today on the corner of a busy intersection.

The colorful bird, the lovely, lonely lady –

Let us bring something colorful,

let us bring chariots of balloons,

turquoise, dark blue, metallic green,

and buckets of flowers in her memory,

the next time we fly through this town.