everything you touch
there once was a gypsy in modern-day clothes,
disguised as a housewife with a ring,
and a scarf draped across her neck covered in blue lillies.
she can see the past,
just by touching.
she spends all her time gliding through antique stores,
as slow as a bride down the aisle;
right foot, together, left foot, together.
brushing her fingers over lamps and chairs and little figurines of indian chiefs.
she is flooded with pictures of rooms and children and the good old days.
these secrets were always supposed to be kept.
"it's just between me and you, okay teddy?"
the things people aren't supposed to know.
the things she knows,
just by touching.