A Poem for Late February

Where this poem came from:  

This observation simply occurred to me today, when I came to work. I have noticed this young woman this semester, and I did consider telling her how nice her hair was; then it occurred to me what her reaction might be. And it made me think that we now live in a society in which we can't even accept a compliment from a stranger, and that that stranger might not want anything at all--except to acknowledge someone else's humanity.  The last two lines of the poem are ego-centric, but with the intent that the "first person" speaker could actually be anyone, as easily as it could me. 

Observation and Confession

I noticed this semester, same time, same place--

a young woman and her laptop,

sitting in the foyer of the building.

Her laptop, being open, I noticed first:

blue swirls on background of white—not waves exactly—

at least I don’t think so. Swirls. Lovely really.

And she is, too.

Young, blond, slender, comely.

Today her hair no longer fell in a cataract to her shoulders;

It was cut, just below the ears,

making her seem older, her eyes larger, lovely still.

What I wanted to do was to sit beside her,

tell her that I noticed her, her hair and laptop,

let her know that she needn't sit alone.

But who was I to do such a thing?

“You won’t believe what happened today,”

I could hear her tell a friend. “This woman

just sat down and started to talk to me. She’s been

watching me this semester—same time, same place

when she came into this building.

No, I have no idea who she is—or what she wants.

Telling me how nice I looked, with my haircut.

I think she’s nuts.”

Indeed, surely I must be; for all I would ever want

might be for someone to notice  . . . me.