A woman goes for a walk in her
neighborhood, and somehow disappears.
It was a quiet subdivision,
shrouded by tall oaks and magnolias.
The little houses bunched together
like scuppernong grapes. Two cars each parked
in the tidy driveways, like couples,
with more along the curbs on the streets.
She could have gone for a run or walked
her dog—a cocker spaniel or Welsh
corgi, if she had one—as others
routinely did.
Once the excitement
of police vehicles and flashing
red lights dissipate, the usual
silence descends again. One or two
of her neighbors will recollect her
stepping from the street into the woods.
Now you might think I am that woman,
slipping between the leaves of the trees
like the white tail deer that venture out
to nibble the grass. I’m not any
woman and I simply won’t vanish.
