As I walked up the pavement, up the slight hill <br />to the traffic lights at the crossroads outside the station, <br />I saw her waiting to cross. <br />Or rather, I saw first, her laugh.. <br /> <br />She held the hand of her son <br />as she exchanged words with a passing friend <br />and laughed.. <br /> <br />and what I saw in her eyes, her whole face, <br />as she laughed, was that as she laughed - <br />(did she know this? How could I tell her, a stranger? <br />Lady, lady, at the crossroad of our lives, <br />I’m writing this poem for you now…) <br /> <br />as she laughed, while she laughed, <br />I saw that she was in touch, the whole of her, <br />with her deepest self – just that… all that… <br />and as I saw that self, which was <br />(Lady, are you reading this?) <br />the perfection of perfection, all that’s perfect… <br /> <br />it was as if – no, it was just so – <br />her self looked at me, and so <br />the perfect looked at the perfect; <br /> <br />herself and mine together laughed, <br />laughed at imperfection <br /> <br />and as the perfect looked, it saw perfection <br />spreading through my eyes from our shared self <br />so that her son was perfect; and her friend was perfect; <br />and all around us, every they and it were perfect.. <br /> <br />(Lady, Lady, at the Cross’s foot, <br />was it like this for You?) <br /> <br />the light turned green. And we were free <br />to cross the road; and <br />free to live; and <br />free to laugh away illusion; and <br />free to be ourselves; forever, <br />in that time which is forever. <br /> <br />Lady, by my faith, this by my hand; <br />and with my life I do yet swear <br />upon my life, this to be true; <br /> <br />Lady, hear, in this my orison, <br />there are no sins <br />to be remembered.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-woman-at-the-crossroad-who-laughed/
