Stop Light on Mission Street

Stop Light on Mission Street

Time stopped

She turned.
I looked.
Anonymous three-year-old in a red coat.
That's all and everything.
Blond blur; a watercolor.
Her dad takes her hand.
And I remember so much all at once.
A tiny hand (bird-like bones) reaching up for mine.
It’s Natalie. No, it’s my Meghan.
A granddaughter: Emmy?
It’s universal.
Time passing like a cloud shifting shape.
Past.
I can’t swallow, a hard lump, like a rock, in my throat.
Tears form.
This fleeting sweet life. Thank you God.
Brevity.
Green light.