Invisible Woman

The handwriting

the high arches and looping

curves of a female’s forming

bubbles blown floating

up and down

the page and the book

spread open wide

to late-term feminism

in amongst scattered

pens and highlighters

like a nest of dirt and twigs

that somehow holds

so everything looked right

and well-invented.

To add some fun

I laid by the book

a fistful of malt balls

whose chocolate started

melting in the heat.

You came but I missed it

stuck in John Donne

and a little Petrarch

and never saw until I left

without getting your name

or thanks for the candy even.