Rubbing Hands Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Rubbing hands

She stood by the light
Her look said much, a lot:
"I pushed it, light must turn,
Hurry up, it is late…"
And much more visible
In her feet that kept pace
All were set to cross
The zebra, black-white.

But her hands spoke fast
Each rubbing other hand
As did the steam's-warmth
Getting out of her mouth.

It was cold as I saw
Not for me, not for all
But for her, Toronto's…

Possibly another tropical…

Eyes see and flies mind
To the past and across
The oceans and skies
So did mine…

In Feb of twenty-O-nine
I stood, bust stop
And snow on the ground
To ankle if not knee
White snow was iced, red
And was cold…

My pride…

I went home no word said
Absorbed pain in my vein
Did not say to now-Ex!

She'd enjoy my weakness!