“I used to play the saxophone.” she said.
“Mine was sliver and it caught the light
when I played in jazz clubs and churches.
I could never make out faces, but I could see them sway
along with whatever song was playing.
It was like we shared a soul.”
I cannot tell you how old she was.
Gray hair, with one thick strand of it dyed aqua.
Her face was an explosion of wrinkles
and as she sipped coffee in the booth next to mine,
she leaned towards me, with an intimate smile.
“I was abducted by aliens,” She said.
“They did things. Unspeakable things
and I was powerless. Utterly powerless.”
She sipped the last of her coffee
and for a second seemed surprised
at her empty cup.
Her fingers reached up and twirled the aqua curl
like an ingenue in Life magazine
as she leaned towards me again.
“I will tell you a secret.
I would have done anything for them.
It was so good to be wanted.
she sipped her empty cup.
She twirled her hair.
“But they left me too.” she said.
They always do.”
And then she did the unexpected.
She stood up
and left, a strange sway in her half crippled walk.
You could almost hear the saxophone.
About this poem.
It happened just like this. In a Diner. In Granville, NY of all places. There are stories everywhere. Many of them are amazing. A few are true.