Solita.

I am walking alone
on the side of the Road
crossing now and then,
to hitch
or not to hitch?
is my question

I look for the answer
around me
within me
the birds are singing,
a gentle breeze,
I can feel my leg muscles
strengthening
beneath me,
and there
are
bees
everywhere.

I find a crow feather, a gift
left in the grass
I pause and place
it in my
love-tousled hair

I reach the small town Mecca
open the door
to the air-conditioned oasis
looking for holy
water

the man behind the counter
sees the Frida portrait
that hangs from a cord
around my neck
and asks
if that's me

swollen with my pleasure
I almost tell him,
yes.