Who but the very obsessive would wear white shoes
Who but the very driven would carry a white umbrella
Who but the very compulsive would wear a white dress
with pink roses lining the skirt and a baby blue sash.
But there she is, seated on the cliff, the picture of spotless
femininity, looking longingly out to sea in expectation.
But wait, look closely, a black pearl necklace rings her
neck and part of the strand she holds in her right hand.
Could it be the sign of a long-lost love?
Did her lover give her that string of pearls? Will he return?
Incongruous, incompatible but somehow redeeming.
She might be thinking “We have come to the end
of questions…like God putting the finishing touches on,
before sending me down to be born.”
Even the most innocuous can offer a reverent message
if we look closely enough.