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parking lot, does

it occur to me that

the fame that brought

me here belongs to

me, not to my mom.

I like how that feels.

WE WEAVE

Through the thinning crowd.

Some have taken their children

home, out of the crisp morning,

away from the threat of snow.

A stab of intuition makes me

survey the knot of people nearby.

Did Nik decide to come after

all? That could be very bad,

all things considered. But when

I assess faces, the one my eyes

grab hold of does not belong

to Nikki. I do not recognize

the man standing just there,

scanning the human sea. So why

do I think I know him? Someone

ducks in front of him, and I lose

momentary sight, but when his

eyes at last connect with mine,

they are green-dappled gray. Piebald.

He turns away suddenly, as if

whoever he was looking for

found him instead. He melts

into the tide of bodies. Faces.