She Stood

She stood

It was a still night when she came home
to a crayon house, cotton clouds too light
for the sky. This is not real -
to walk always along this ridge,
Someday,
would her feet fall, would the house follow,
the cruxifixes, the pictures of Jesus, even the old Irish saying, may
the wind
be always at your back?
She stood,
her hand on the door, a sleeping family inside, watching a firefly , no, a dragonfly , light up for
a moment,
disappearing too, into suburban darkness.

Not a princess here,
but there:
on the subway,
People packed like a carton of cigarettes,
under flourescent lights,
in a dark tunnel
she had kissed him.