As I walked past her
she reminded me at first
of an old-fashioned swimsuit model
sitting on one hip
legs crossed demurely
only she was wearing sweat pants
not a bathing suit
and she was sitting on the sidewalk
trying to look as dignified as possible
while she held onto the taxi driver’s legs
for dear life
her name was Margaret
the taxi driver told me
and he’d just brought her back
from the hospital
which I could see from the ID bracelet
on her old wrist
and then he was gone
leaving me with Margaret
whose legs
she told me with a half laugh
had a mind of their own
by the time the paramedics arrived
Margaret was on her back in the elevator
so much heavier than I expected
as though the years
or perhaps the regrets
had piled up like lead
they told me I could go
which I did
and then turned back
wanted to say something else
wanted to place some patch
on her exposed life
but all I could think of to say
was that her son would surely
come by soon
and as I walked home
I wished with a surprising
slosh of grief
that he would come
and tell her
all the things she did well
and how her eyes
always make him think
of a quiet happy sky.