Sandra Lee
Sandra Lee was a woman alone, but not lonely.
An artist, full of flair and ideas of flamboyance and fantasy.
She wrote poetry, drew portraits, made glorious watercolors.
Others married and moved away, but she stayed in her town.
Enjoying her life, her work as a social worker made her happy.
But don’t you get lonely? Others asked her.
They tried to set her up with their boyfriend’s friends.
They were not any sneakier than her grandmother.
She is complete, the men would argue; she is not interested.
And she was not. For she had seen her man in her dreams.
She would recognize his curly brown hair, and his hazel eyes.
She would recognize his firm square chin and the way he laughed.
She lived her life for twenty-nine years without worrying about it.
God would provide the right man at the right moment.
She had been dancing with him in her dreams for twenty-one years.
It happened on a Wednesday. She recognized his curly hair first.
He looked up and gave her that smile. She could feel her face flush.
She knew she was pink like the Cheshire Cat.
She looked down at her coffee, trying not to look up again.
“May I sit down?” a male voice asked.
She knew who it was before he took a seat.
“I never do this,” he told her. “But I have been dancing with you since I was nine”.
“In your dreams?” she asked.
He smiled.
Her eyes were the exact color of blue he recognized.
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