the french girl

Remembering that girl
At the Grand Canyon in 1994
She was French
I heard the language
Like a dream of water flowing out of her
Over me
She was looking at postcards in a visitors center
With a friend
A sister
Turning the rack slowly
Smiling, some laughter 
She was a little taller than me
Long and lithe
Tanned or just dark, straight brown hair in a loose bun, strands falling around her face
Younger
Maybe 18
She did not look at me
As I stared
My stomach in my throat
My eyes wide open
She did not notice that
I was stunned
Paralyzed
An aura around her
Everything else faded
Her lips, thin and elegant
Her eyes dark and feminine
Her dark, flowing silken shirt hanging
At her waist over jeans
Like I'd been kicked in the gut
I knew I'd never know her
And I watched as she walked away
The world slowly becoming visible
And pointless again
As I wandered off into the future
Without her