Maria

We see a lonely figure, lingering on
the fringes, failing to join for fear of dismissal.
So do we welcome her with open arms?
No, we reject what we don't understand.
We're too squeamish to hold differences
comfortably in our hands.
Contact makes us flinch and falter, usually on the side of error.
First impressions are seared indelibly in our minds, those
vessels gifted with forgetfulness in hindsight but never in the moment.
There's no second chance for that figure
hovering in our shadows, behind the curtain of doubt.
Why don't we beckon?
Because we know we'd be beckoning to ourselves.